


Forget Me Nots

by awkwardedgeworth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, Gratuitous Amounts of Alcohol and Nice-Drunk Yuri, Lovers to Enemies to Awkward Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-11-28 05:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardedgeworth/pseuds/awkwardedgeworth
Summary: Yuri wiggles into a comfortable position and checks his Instagram again, scrolling past the comments, searching and searching.Otabek doesn't like the photo, it's past four in the morning, and Yuri, feeling impossibly old, is two blinks away from falling asleep.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my writer's block continues in its spiral down an endless chasm so i thought, _why not some angst_
> 
> self beta'd

(2030)

He's got it all.

He's the world record holder; six time World Champion, ten time Grand Prix medalist and twelve time European Champion. He has one bronze from Pyeongchang and three golds from Beijing, Almaty and Sapporo. Officially retired, his track record is good enough to send every little skater in Moscow flocking towards him.

He should be happy. His career is solid; Yuri can afford an apartment next to Mila close to the heart of downtown Moscow and a car to drive. He can go to the more expensive grocery store and pick whatever he wants. He still has sponsorships lined up even though his competition days are over. He's still well loved and remembered by the figure skating world.

Life should be good.

Instead, he's sitting out on his balcony, nursing a cup of gin after he proposed earlier, staring at the traffic below. The likes on his most recent picture (the engagement rings) continue to climb like an exponential graph, as is the chat with the senior skaters in last year's circuit, filled with people Yuri barely knows wishing him well.

" _Yurochka!_ " Mila shrieks when he answers her call. " _Congratulations!_ "

"Thanks, hag," There's something like fondness mixed in with his light slurring. Alcohol always makes him more in tune with his emotional side.

" _Are you drunk?_ "

"Let me celebrate," He lies. "This is a cause for alcohol, don't you agree?"

" _I suppose, yes,_ " Mila laughs. " _Well, I just wanted to get my congratulations in early, tell me all the details tomorrow at the rink, okay? See you!_ "

"Night, Mila," He downs the rest of his gin and slips his phone back into his pocket, padding inside quietly as Sofiya runs up to him and rubs herself all over his ankles. Yuri bends down and picks her up, placing a kiss on her furry head before letting her squirm out of his arms.

He tiptoes around, cleaning the place up without turning on the lights. He's not so far gone that he needs to hold onto walls for support, though the chance arises several times. Yuri hurries into his laundry room to grab extra socks, trying to squint in the dark to make sure they match.

His phone gently buzzes; JJ has sent him a video of Isabella and their two children yelling congratulations.

He doesn't have to come into the rink until after lunch, an agreement made together with Yakov and Victor yesterday. Georgi is excited to have him as an assistant coach, cajoling how it'll be like old times back when Yuri was one and half a head shorter. Even Mila's a coach, a clear favorite amongst the little girls who inspire to just be like her.

Katya is dead asleep when he crawls into his bed, the sky just about to lighten. She'll be up in three hours to help her sister open the clinic, taking the bus with the rest of Moscow's work force before the sun bakes the city. But for now, she continues to breathe silently as Yuri wiggles into a comfortable position and checks his Instagram again, scrolling past the comments, searching and searching.

Otabek Altin doesn't like the photo, it's past four in the morning, and Yuri, feeling impossibly old, is two blinks away from falling asleep.

 

Victor can be seen fussing over the coffee machine in the staff room when Yuri passes. Georgi has given up and is instead dipping his tea bag into his cup, a picture of tiredness as he nurses his hangover.

Out of habit, Yuri skates a few laps with the older teens and does a triple flip. He doesn't know why he's trying to console himself, but he sees the same faces everyday. Nothing really changed much. He still goes to the same rink, wears the same boots, has the same skate guards, and drinks from the same squirt bottle.

His knees protest when he lands hard.

Right, right, retirement. He retired for a reason.

"It's hard, isn't it?"

Mila skates beside him, holding her hands together behind her back as she chirps good morning to some of her students warming up. She turns to Yuri, hair tied in a loose ponytail, "I used to try to keep up with the younger ones, but it takes a toll on you when you're not on the same regiment as they are."

"It feels weird," Yuri watches a pair pass them, building speed before launching themselves into a series of low twizzles. The male loses his balance and slides on his rear across the ice. "It still feels like a dream."

"Mhm," Mila nods, "Have you set the wedding date yet?"

"Katya wants it to be next summer, maybe in an orchard or something with the good weather. It'll be cooler outside the city limits and anyway, it'll be off season for me so it's good timing."

"That sounds good, what about the guests?"

"I want to invite some skaters," Yuri forces his tone to be casual. "And she'll have her friends and family, of course. Maybe two hundred people? Phichit already called dibs on planning the party afterwards. Katya says she can't fight him."

"Phichit is a force to be reckoned with on a good day," Mila says before veering off to help two girls who crashed into each other. 

"Yura!" Over the years, one might think that the might of Victor's heart-shaped smiles would lesson, but it continues to grow. "Congratulations! OH I— I am  _so_ happy!" Victor then proceeds to hug him tightly. Yuri lets him, patting his back and promptly giving him some tissues.

"You have snot all over my jersey," He paws at the shoulder of his Sapporo Russia jersey, the right shoulder speckled with tears and mucus. "Ugh, gross."

Victor continues to sob. Yuri is one minute away from calling Yuuri to replace his useless husband.

"Vitya," Yakov's voice comes from the rink edge, where he stands grumpy and not crying. "Wipe your tears and start teaching! Let me talk to the ISU peacefully in preparation for this year's Rostelecom cup."

Victor doesn't stop bawling. Yakov escorts him off the ice and Yuri takes over teaching for the morning, watching Yegor and Ivan as they work on their quad-triple combos. He pushes all thoughts of the wedding out of his mind for the next few hours, snapping at Yegor's free leg and the strain Ivan has when he bends his back into a biellmann, a sensation like ants beneath his skin when he was their fellow rink-mate several weeks ago.

He texts Katya when he eats lunch, exchanging what happened that morning as she tells him about the patients she has. He gets a call from her sister, who shrieks in the same exact pitch Mila had several nights ago, and congratulates the both of them. Yuri laughs and thanks her before lacing up his shoes to watch over the off-ice session while the senior ice dancers and pairs take the rink.

On the weekend, he begins planning the wedding earnestly, already having notes from Yuuri's and Victor's experience to guide him. Katya is busy trying dresses on with her sister and friends so he sits down on their dining table, taking out a piece of paper and his phone. Then he begins the guest list from his contacts, hand cramping after he passes Minami Kenjirou and Mila Babicheva. 

He falters when he gets to Otabek.

_"Zhanym, I would relinquish my future entries to the Olympics to ride in the ambulance with you. Are you feeling any pain at all?"_

His knee twinges when there's a crash in the bathroom and he jumps, running over to make sure his cat doesn't have any glass shards stuck in her paw.

Sofiya is sitting on the closed toilet seat, tail waving, looking unhurt as several of Katya's face products lays scattered on the bathroom floor. Yuri shoots her a look and bends down to pick them up, checking that there's no cracks before rearranging the entire counter. He definitely needs to pick up toothpaste next time he grocery shops.

Yuri steels himself and continues to write the guest list, submitting them to the printers before he makes a run to grab ingredients for dinner. The date is set for June 21st.

 

Since Yegor and Ivan are both seeded in the Rostelecom Cup (Cup of China for Yegor and NHK Trophy for Ivan) for the first event of the GP Series, Yuri doesn't need to book any hotels or prepare a suitcase. 

His heart aches slightly when he enters the rink and touches the guard rail, watching the ground crew set up the cameras and kiss and cry. If he moves his head slightly to the left, he could imagine his fifteen year old self marching with Yakov and Lilia at his back, the Agape costume glittering underneath the many lights.

He does not think of the ice nor the way it feels under his feet. He has traded the ice for ground, his skates for shoes and his body for being a legend. It's everything he had ever wished when he was half of Victor's height and eighty pounds lighter.

Mila sidles up to him and wraps a comforting arm around his waist when warm up starts and the first round of skaters hit the ice, "You okay?"

"Not really," He critically follows the motions of Chris's student, a weedy thing with dangerous step sequences and a smile that lures in the crowd like sailors to sirens at sea. "Maybe I'm just taking this coaching thing badly."

"There's nothing wrong with struggling when all you've known so far is being a skater."

Yuri doesn't answer her, too busy trying to categorize the problems running freely in his head into digestible bits. Unfortunately, Mila takes this the wrong way and slaps him heartily between the shoulder before walking off to her student.

Yegor, Ivan and Julian, Christophe's student, takes the podium in that order. The coaches all go to a bar afterwards.

Yuri orders gin on ice and drinks half of it in one gulp, ignoring Chris's alarmed expression as they settle on the high chairs. He already set his twitter alerts to ping him obnoxiously if Yegor or Ivan get into trouble while they have dinner with the rest of the senior circuit.

"So," Chris says as Victor runs up to Yuuri, who had just arrived at the bar's entrance, "Engaged huh?"

Yuri grunts in his cup, dismayed when it's empty. He orders another one.

Age looks good on Chris. His hair is all grown out and tied into a bun, the brown roots streaked with bleached yellow nestled artfully into half curls at the crown of his head.

Mila pokes Yuri's arm and asks him to hold onto her purse while she goes to the bathroom.

"That Shuron Ronstrong?"

Chris blinks before touching the rim of his glasses, confused and amused, "Yes?"

"Looks good on your face," Now that his insides and throat are burning comfortably, Yuri eases into his stool, leaning back and watching the ice ball tip here and there, condensation forming where his warm fingers meets glass. "And yes,  _engaged_. Why? Didn't think I'd settle?" 

"None at all," Chris replies, "I'm sorry if my question seemed that way."

Yuri immediately feels horrible, the emotion turned seven-fold as alcohol mixes with his blood. His empty stomach churns. He should order something to eat too, "Sorry."

Chris waves it off, "Don't worry about it. I've sent the invitation back, express mail."

"Thanks, you're the last one we're waiting on," They toast and Chris turns somber.

"I heard from Georgi you're not settling well."

The bar is packed, extra chairs and stools brought from the back of the storage room as waiters balance trays with drinks and food above their heads, twirling elegantly like they're atop a stage, tutus in place of the black aprons tied to their waist. There's some oldie blasting from the tinny speakers on top but Yuri can only hear his sluggish heart beat and the clink of ice on glass. 

He takes another mouthful of gin.

"I feel lost."

Chris doesn't attempt to comfort him like Mila or Victor, sipping on his highball, "Feels like you're standing still when other people are running past you?"

They toast again, grinning. Yuri orders his third gin and some fries. Chris, deciding to switch it up, orders a tequila and a slider with no mayo. 

"I thought you'd be used to it by now," Yuri tells Chris, poking his fry in a small bowl of ketchup. "You've been coaching longer for years now."

"It doesn't dull the pain of leaving the ice," Chris steals a fry. Yuri lets him, "That's why I try to get on the ice as much as I can."

"Pitiful," He voices his thoughts. Mila is back, thanking him for holding onto her small Chanel purse as she turns her attention back to Yuuri and Victor. He grabs his phone and checks for twitter notifications. Good: Yegor and Ivan are still alive.

Chris smiles at his plate, "We truly are."

Yuri doesn't like that smile, so he yells for Seung-gil's name over the noise and sets Chris, a cat lover, against Seung-gil's stubborn loyalty for his husky. He relaxes back into his seat, pleased that he had redirected Chris's grief elsewhere.

If Chris looks tired and sad, then he wonders how he must look right now.

He tells Mila to keep his seat warm and walks towards the bathroom in a semi-straight line, holding himself up before stumbling over to the sink. Maybe four gins were too much. Was it really four? He could have sworn he raised his hand up to the bartender five times. Or maybe it was really four—

" _Hello,_ " Otabek says, " _You've reached Otabek Altin. I'm sorry I can't answer your call. Leave your name, number and message and I'll respond back to you at the earliest possible time._ "

Yuri furiously ends the call, eyes prickling with heat as his nose decides to set its sights on becoming a faucet. A leaky one at that. He pulls two paper towels from the dispenser and blows his nose, looking at the nice sink, glass with small fishes carved into the tiles. It's a very nice bar, he should remember what it's called so he could bring Otabek here next—

"Fuck," He growls, tossing the paper towel wad into the bin. It sails into the wall before bounding in. "Fuck, fuck,  _fuck, fuck._ " Fuck, his brain supplies in the midst of replaying Otabek's voicemail that Yuri can state off by heart. Fuck, his knee says next when Yuri lurches closer towards the sink, finally raising his eyes to his reflection.

Twenty-nine. Current record holder for most medals and Olympic gold. His competitive career had ended on a bright note. The world is his to take— he can have anyone he wants, can have anything he wants but the two things he wishes deep, deep down for was already ripped apart from him years ago.

His eyes stings as the memory of his knee resurfaces, Otabek snarling at him, eyes furious before walking away. 

" _Hello._ _You've reached Otabek Altin. I'm sorry I can't answer your call. Leave your name, number and message and I'll respond back to you at the earliest poss—"_

He takes a deep breath, another one, and another one until the spinning in his head is only from the alcohol and not from his heart ripping its way out of his throat. Yuri rinses his hands before tucking a loose piece of hair behind his left ear. He fixes his loose bun twice before nodding to his reflection.

If anything, Lilia had drilled composure into him.  _Always graceful_. It's what he traded his body for after all, he might as well make her proud.

Katya is waving from his seat when he walks out, sitting among his friends like she belonged there. Yuri slips an arm around her and puts his chin on her leather jacket-covered shoulders. Victor takes a picture and sings something about blackmail as Yuri grins into her neck.

His phone sits in his pocket like a stone.

It never buzzes once.

Otabek Altin doesn't reply to the invitation or attend his wedding.

Then, when Yuri is thirty, heart hardened from the years of cynicism, they meet again.


	2. Chapter 2

> With great pleasure  
>  Yuri Plisetsky  
>  & Katya Ivanova

> invite you to join them on June 21st  
>  at five in the afternoon for dinner and dance
> 
> Lakeview Orchards  
> 2031 Lesnaya D, Moscow

(2031)

For some reason, he thought that once he'd gotten married the rest of his life was going to come easy.

Yuri eats his breakfast with divorce papers as his guests, sitting in Katya's seat as the sun streams in through the large eastern windows. He pokes the forget-me-nots in a slim vase, their purple-blue the only pop of color in the minimalistic-styled house. The apartment—  _showroom_ , his sleepy mind supplies— is empty and quiet.

They only see each other when they come home now, and dinner is a stifling affair. He loses appetite halfway into his breakfast but shoves the rest of his oatmeal into his mouth even if his throat tightens. 

His phone lights up. Grandpa's smile beams up at him and he strips his eyes away, slowly gathering himself for work. He watches his arms do everything, stacking the dishes into the cabinet, grabbing a pair of socks and shoes out of the hall closet before tugging at the laces and forming bunny ears. The strap of his bag, black, is grabbed. His keys are next.

"You need it," Mila presses a cup of caramel macchiato before moving onto Rink Two where her students are sharing the ice with the senior ice dancers. Yuri takes a cautious sip, burning his tongue as he sees Ivan in the middle of compulsories. He pats his pockets before making way to him.

"Happy 19th, squirt," He says from the sides when Ivan gets close enough. His tone is even to his ears.

"Coach!" Ivan laughs when Yuri tosses him something from his pocket, catching it with his left hand and skating towards the guard rails, "Aw thanks. You know, I'm not a squirt anymore."

"You were two heads shorter than me back in juniors."

"That doesn't count and you know it," Ivan shoots back, sticking the cherry lollipop into his mouth and pocketing the wrapper, "I'm over 170!"

"Are you now?"

"Yep!"

Yuri flicks his forehead, "I'm 183, try to catch up to me first before trying to compete with me."

"Asshole," Ivan mumbles. Yuri pelts another lollipop at his head and trying to push the divorce out of his mind for now, pursing his mouth when he sees what's on the whiteboard that's mounted on the rink wall.

"Ivan!"

His student skates towards him and slides to a stop, tongue blue from the second lollipop, "What's up?"

Yuri frowns, "You said someone's coming in today right?" They're only waiting for one piece left before Ivan has his three programs competition-ready.

"Yep!"

"I don't understand why you couldn't have me handle the music transaction," Yuri clutches to the subject like it was yarn and he's digging his claws into it. The divorce is still at the edges of his consciousness. "What's so amazing about this person that you wanted him to come and give you the USB in person?"

Ivan is starry-eyed and reminds Yuri of Minami Kenjirou, "Because he's THE best! Went to Boston for his bachelors and came out of there with jazz, classical, EDM and remixes up his sleeve. You're not competing anymore but you'd love to skate to his music! An absolute legend! Do you want to listen to his CDs? I'll lend them all to you!"

"No thanks," Yuri dubiously says, looking at the whiteboard again before looking at the weekly goal section off to the side. Ivan's little box has many, many things to be checked off. "When's he coming? I asked Yuuri to come in today to take a look at your step sequences after lunch."

Ivan stretches his neck left and right as if Yuri can hide his mysterious guest behind his thin frame, "Oh no worries, he should be here any moment now. I wonder if he's lost. Maybe you should sit back in your office, Coach, I can come get you once he leaves."

He narrows his eyes at Ivan's flighty twitches and his obsessive time checking, trying to squint at the possible of a bigger picture. Was he trying to sneak his dog in again? "Why would I sit in my office? I should thank him for listening to your picky music requests and buy him a drink."

"A drink is not required," In front of him, Ivan's face lights up before freezing in shock— a strange reaction to have. Yuri turns around, ready to offer a hand when he comes face to face with— 

— _Otabek_.

There is no slow motion. Yuri can feel goose bumps prickling all over his skin, starting from his arms going all the way up his neck. He opens his mouth ever so slightly to try to lessen the sudden crushing he feels in his chest, forcing his muscles to relax.

It's Otabek.  _Otabek_.

Who, the last time they saw each other, had snarled at him and left the apartment, only dragging a suitcase along with him.

No phone-calls, no notes, no text, no emails, no nothing.

He needs an escape.

Over at the door separating Rink One and Two, Mila peers inside, eyes as wide as dinner plates. Yuuri, beside Mila, pales to a sheet of paper.

"This is for you," He continues in the same quiet voice that Yuri can mockingly recite off the top of his head—  _Hello, you've reached Otabek Altin_ — "Have a listen to it and we can talk about changing the parts you don't like."

Ivan darts his blue eyes to Yuri before accepting his USB and Otabek's offered hand with half dread and half amazement, "Thank you, thank you so much!"

"I'll be on my way then," Otabek says to the space between Ivan and Yuri, nodding once and marching straight out of the rink. His strides are fast, Yuri belated thinks as he continues to watch him disappear. Somehow, he can't feel his legs.

Ivan beams down at the USB like it's his firstborn. His smile falters when he looks up to see everyone in the neighboring rink gawk at him through the glass, the stick slipping through his fingers.

The clatter on the ice wakes whatever trance Yuri was in.

Otabek's going to leave if he doesn't catch up.

Blood is roaring in his ears as he fumbles with his laces, shucking his skates off and jamming his feet into his runners. His knee clips the edge of the bench as he takes his first stumbling steps. He doesn't even feel the pain. He only knows that he needs to catch up to him.

Hundreds of sentence starters flashes through his head, ranging from ones riddled with swear words to polite ones, like one would greet a stranger. He must look stupid, running with his shoelaces untied and inches from slipping off, strands of hair escaping his ponytail.

Yuri skids into the lobby before shoving the entrance of the arena open, scrunching his eyes against the sun.

"Otabek!"

He's sitting on a black bike, tinted visor reflecting Yuri's own flushed cheeks in his mad sprint. The engine is off and Otabek pauses before kicking the sidestand back down, letting the bike tip on one side as he sits back.

"Yes?" It comes out muffled from the visor.

"I..." Yuri draws blank, "I was hoping I came up with something to say once I caught up with you."

Otabek is silent for a long time.

It doesn't help that Yuri only sees his face where Otabek's eyes should be, the green-blue of his eyes reflected back, lined with anger, regret and—

The helmet moves a bit to the left, "I have to go. It was good seeing you," The engine roars to life.

" _Good seeing me?_ " He loudly says against the engine, knowing that Otabek is revving it on purpose. Yuri sucks in a breath and squeezes his diaphragm, the wind whipping his hair angrily, "You disappear off the planet without telling your family where you went! You  _left_ me! You didn't talk to me for  _six years_  and you're leaving only after delivering something to my student?" 

"That's what I'm here for," Comes Otabek's voice. Yuri notes that it has an edge of irritation.  _Good_. He always loved a good yelling match, "Griazev contacted me and asked if I could make him something for his free program. He told me he admires my work, so I agreed to drop off the music face to face and greet him."

Calculating and cold. He'd never heard Otabek speak like that, even when he's angry or frustrated. Every word that came out of his mouth painted a picture in his head, one where Otabek was strong enough to walk into Yuri's life like he never meant anything to him before striding back out. 

"...You're a piece of work."

A pause. The engine continues to rumble as Otabek finally snaps out of his thoughts, kicking the stand back.

"It takes one to know one."

He doesn't know how long he stands there, shaking and glaring where Otabek's bike had turned a corner. The divorce weighing on his shoulder is gone, consumed by his blind rage to hurt as he whirls back into the rink.

Every skater scurries out of his way as Yuri pushes back the door his office. The little glass window in the door rattles and he snaps the blinds closed. 

Otabek had sounded so normal and unaffected— like they really were nothing more than strangers who had a common link through someone else.

He wants to punch something.

There's a knock.

"What  _is it_ , Mila?" He demands waspishly, keeping his eyes closed because if he doesn't, the angry tears he's holding back is going to roll down his face and he won't have the excuse of alcohol to blame it on. "Is Otabek the reason why you gave me coffee this morning or is this about the divorce papers?!"

Mila's breathing halts.

Yuri suppresses a memory of the wedding, Mila and Katya inseparable as Yuri watches them take pictures with the rest of the bridal party, Victor trying to goad him into another round on the dance floor.

"I'm sorry, Yura. I..." She says into the silence. "I brought it because Ivan told me Otabek was coming today. I didn't know about the papers."

"So all of you talked behind my back?" He spits, eyes finally dry as he turns himself around in the chair and stands up. "Do all the students think I'm some kind of pitiful thing that needs to be taken care of?"

"Yuri!" Mila's voice has turned into glass shards, edges cutting into their friendship. "We never pitied you, we only wanted to protect you!"

"You're babying me!"

"That's not what we intended to do and you know it!" She yells back, voice loud within his tiny, cramped office as she marches up to him and stabs a finger into his chest. "All we wanted to do is make you feel better. The coffee? It's what I chose because I know you wouldn't want to be coddled with your students watching you! I knew you'd be like this once you saw him again!"

He teeters between snapping at Mila and reigning his anger to a low simmer. Mila continues to glare up at him, eyes narrowed before Yuri looks to the side and she loosens her shoulders, letting her arm drop.

"You knew he was coming," Was that accusation or pain in his voice? He doesn't know the difference anymore.

"Yes."

"Who else?!"

"Ivan."

"Did Otabek say anything to you?"

"No, he communicated directly with Ivan this entire time," Mila worries at her lip and looks at their shoes. "I...I need to go back out there. Vera and Klara are waiting for me."

Right, they're in a rink. They're at work— they're professionals. 

Yuri steps back from her and sinks into his seat.

"We'll get drinks this weekend, okay?"

He nods and lets his friend escape, looking at the ceiling before grabbing a hair-tie on his table and shooting it at the light switch, the room falling into darkness.

 

Yuri walks into his apartment to see a container of take out sitting next to the divorce papers and Katya hastily looking up from a book.

"You're back."

"Mmm," He toes off his shoes and places the duffel bag beside the couch, Sofiya jumping into his lap as he sits down, the tightness around his chest constricting once more. Katya pushes a pair of chopsticks towards him, "You got me something?"

Her blue eyes are sad, "Of course I did. Yakisoba from your favorite place."

Yuri looks around the apartment and spots a small carry on by the door. His gaze goes towards the mantle above the electric fireplace, where the wedding picture of them has been taken down. It's leaning against a wall now. 

"I'm going to stay at my sister's for a bit," Katya stands up and pours him a glass of water into a cup with maple leaves dotting the surface, "I might pop in here and there to start moving. There's some boxes in the guest bedroom." 

"You found a place already?"

"I did," She says quietly, looking down as she takes the file with the divorce papers and holds onto it. "It's closer to the clinic, so..."

"So it'll be good," He finishes for her, "To avoid the morning traffic and get to the clinic on time."

She blinks her doe eyes at him before lifting her cheeks into  _that_ smile. She does it often these days.

"How's Ivan?" She chooses a safe topic. His students were the only ones left that she hasn't asked in extensive detail. Yuri wonders how she could read him so easily at times.

The thought of Ivan leads him to this morning's disaster, and his eyes must cloud over because Katya abruptly switches the topic.

"Assignments came out, didn't they?" She tries again. There's sauce near her lips. He motions to it with a hand and watches her wipe it away. In another lifetime, he would do it for her.

He looks at her brown hair messily tied into a half bun, wisps clinging to her face as she absent-mindedly brushes them back with a hand. Her wedding ring is moved to her pointer finger instead.

If she's trying, he has to try too, "It did, Ivan got Canada and France this year."

"That's exciting, where in Canada?"

"Regina and Grenoble for France. You like those maple cookies, right? I'll bring some home," He offers as an olive branch, anything to redirect the sorrow in her eyes somewhere else.

She tentatively smiles back at him, voice quiet, "That'd be lovely, Yuri."

 

" _So_ ," He begins silkily. 

"I'm sorry for going behind your back," Ivan's voice quakes like his arms, locked in a plank position. It's his most hated exercise and Yuri's favorite method of torture. "I'm sorry I contacted Otabek Altin without your consent and asked him to make me a killer long program."

"You don't sound sorry at all."

"Not about the killer piece and handshake I got but I  _am_ sorry for going behind your back," He winces, shifting his arms. Yuri pokes his legs in an effort to make them parallel. "I'm sorry."

"Are you really?"

"Yes!"

Yuri sighs, "You can lie down."

Ivan's rigid stance immediately collapses, an undignified sound whooshing out of his lungs as he presses his forehead on the mat, "How long was that?"

"Eight minutes and thirty seven seconds."

"My abs are on fire.  _Everything_ is on fire," Ivan whines as Yuri waves to Victor leaving the rink. "Why are you so mean to me? What happened to Yegor?"

"He's Victor's student, brat. Your common sense seems to have went out the window."

"It's the planks, Coach," Ivan pulls himself up and wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie. "Are we done?"

"We are," Yuri says, crossing his arms and checking the time. "I'll see you back here on Monday."

Ivan waves as Yuri walks away, "Have a good weekend!"

Mila slides into his car once she finishes locking up, "You didn't torture the poor kid that hard did you?"

Yuri checks both ways before turning into traffic, Mila immediately flips the sun visor down, "I only asked him to hold a plank."

"That's Ivan's worst exercise."

"He's only as strong as his weakest exercise then. Don't you remember that one time Victor made me hold it for twenty minutes and you  _fucking sat on me_ right at the nineteen minute mark and I had to do it all over again?"

Mila beams at him. Yuri takes a turn with more aggression than necessary, the car jostling as Mila shrieks murder and threatens him to drive properly.

Yuri parks his car in their apartment's garage before dropping off his duffel bag. The apartment is dark and quiet, and he runs down to join Mila in the lobby before walking to their favorite bar.

The owner immediately recognizes the both of them and ushers them towards the best seat in the house, next to the floor to ceiling window with the air-con breezily wafting near them. Yuri and Mila decline the offer of free drinks multiple times, much to the owner's sadness.

When their drinks arrive with dinner, they launch into a meeting, discussing the choreography Yuri created for one of Mila's junior skaters as she purses her lips, deep in thought.

"The music..." She trails off.

Yuri spears a pierogi and nods, "Yes, it's a little...off. I don't know if Vera would mind."

Mila takes a sip of her wine, poking her pasta dish before taking another sip of her drink.

"What?" Yuri leans back in his chair, "I thought we're past the point of being honest with each other. You can tell me if the choreo sucks, I can take it."

"Well no, I really like the choreography, it highlights all of Vera's strong points," Mila quickly says, "But...the music  _is_ bothering me more than I admit, and since we have no idea how to...change the choreo to make it flow better...."

"I'm greying as we speak."

"Oh fine! I was thinking that I could ask Otabek to change the music a little, fiddle with the chord progression or suggest another piece that has the same feeling as this one," She crosses her arms and gives him a flat look, "See, I knew it, your face is scrunched up."

Yuri smooths his expression, "I wasn't scrunching my face."

"There's a camera right there pointed at your face behind my head. I can ask the manager to review the video."

"You're not a cop."

"But they love me and we're regulars. Plus, we're former Olympians. That's gotta count for something right?" She spoons some alfredo into her mouth and watches Yuri squirm in his seat.

"It's your student. Do what you want," To prove that's he's A-OK, Yuri sticks another pierogi in his mouth and chews passionately. Mila stares at him like she's having dinner with a sullen child.

"Yuri," She says in  _that_ tone.

He scowls at her and waves at the waiter to refill her cup, " _No_ , you are  _not_ lecturing me. I refuse. No thank you."

"You're thirty and an adult. You need to be able to act civilly to the people you hate."

The waiter refills Yuri's water, taking away their empty appetizer plate that once held calamari. It takes Yuri a moment before he could say, "I don't...really hate him."

"...Yurochka," Mila begins.

"No Mila, I— I  _really_ don't need to be lectured right now."

Mila waves for the dessert menu and orders a crème brulée for herself and an apple pie with ice cream for him.

She sips on her wine, "Do you want to know what he's been up to in the past few years?"

He feigns for indifference even though he knows Mila sees right through him, "Sure."

"Well, I think Ivan knows more than me, but he went to Boston to get his bachelors in composition and theory. Graduated top of his class and went back to Almaty to start his music career. He landed a contract with the Bolshoi this year and is their in-house composer, that's why he was able to meet with Ivan."

"I heard he does all sorts of music."

"He does," Mila admits, "I've been listening to his stuff online and it's pretty broad. They're all good," She pauses before adding more, "I heard he made a piece for the London Symphony before coming here."

"Good for him," Yuri finally says, poking his fork into the crisp pie crust.

"You sound sarcastic."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to feel," He watches her take a big scoop of his ice cream, happily mmming. "I'm glad things picked up for him after the incident."

"Yes, it's a shame," She takes a hearty bite out of her dessert, "And I think I will have to ask him. I want the best for Vera," She takes another spoonful and offers it to him, "Do you want some?"

Yuri leans across the table and lets the caramelized sugar crust melt in his mouth as their conversation turn to the assignments that was released two weeks ago, not thinking of the large empty bed he'll have to crawl into after this is over.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kind responses so far!

"Yura, you're two months too early for Halloween."

He looks down at his chest, wondering if he's wearing a bad superhero pun shirt Ivan gifted him before he catches sight of the right hand he'd mauled.

Right.

He was washing dishes like a responsible adult and the sink had been watery and soapy. Soap suds were everywhere. He'd plunged his hand in so confidently and  _definitely still not seething from meeting Otabek_  that he grasped a large knife too passionately before jerking back and yelling. Sue him.

Yuri scowls at Yakov as he enters Lilia's large apartment. The furniture is the same, the walls in shades of beige and light pink as Yuri switches to slippers, following Yakov's pace as they tread through the hall towards a spare-bedroom-turned-office.

"What happened to your hand?" Yakov rumbles, trying again. He pushes the door aside as Georgi, Mila and Victor are already sitting down, laptops ready in front of them. 

"Ran it willingly over barbed-wire," He replies, sinking into a chair and digging in his bag for his laptop with his mummified hand. They're here today to mostly haggle down plane tickets for their skaters while making sure that the rink always have a coach or two while those in the GP circuit travel. 

Mila starts filling in the days she'll be away on the whiteboard propped up on the wall. She's followed by Georgi, Victor and him.

"You'll be alone for France, Yuri," Georgi says, looking at the board.

"That's fine, I can handle myself."

"Can you even speak French?" Victor inputs.

It's times like this where Yuri sorely wishes that the Yuuri in his head wouldn't give him a look filled with so much disappointment that his morality shies away from punching Victor's nose, "No, but I survived going to Hasetsu all by myself when I was fifteen.  _Alone_."

"I don't feel comfortable sending you to France without any of us," Yakov mutters. "Both of you can't read maps or follow directions."

"I'm thirty! I know how to read maps!" He eventually finds the location...after a lot of walking. In circles.

Yakov squints at him like he wants to say something, but promises to let it go when Yuri says JJ will be at the same competition and  _JJ_ can speak both French  _and_ Quebecois French.

When they finish booking the tickets and submit the correct forms to the ISU, Yuri slips out of the room first and catches someone closing the door behind them as Lilia stands in the foyer, her once black hair streaked liberally with grey.

"Yuri Plisetsky."

"Hello," He bends down and presses his jaw against her sharp cheekbones as she gives him a thorough look over. "You look well."

"Of course I am, it's only been a month since you've last saw me," She doesn't coddle him, which is a relief. He doesn't think he can handle any more people giving him pitying eyes as he tells them that he's helping Katya pack up her stuff when he's not at the rink. She purses her lips when she catches sight of his hand. "What did I say about fighting?"

"I didn't get into a fight," He helps set the table, pulling out the silver from the rich mahogany cabinets off to the sides as Mila joins Lilia in the kitchen, ladling soup into bowls. Georgi and Victor are handling the plates, and Yakov goes to the old phonograph in a corner to select a record. His movements are awkward and he clutches the silver in a death grip to prevent any of them slipping out of his poorly bandaged hand. 

"How is Katya?"

Dinner at Lilia's is a bi-weekly affair during the off-season. Yuri listens to his former coaches talk about Bolshoi, the ballet they're currently rehearsing, and the gossip that comes with fighting for being prima ballerina. He'll never understand being in a team sport, thank god figure skating is mostly individual.

"Good," Yuri says without missing a beat, "She's already found an apartment near the clinic. Won't have to wake up as early now," Like the apartment that never felt like home, their bed never felt right either. Neither was their bathroom or living room. Between spooning another bite of soup, he wonders when his life had spiraled down.

"It was a bad choice to get that apartment even though it's so close to the rink and downtown," Lilia wrinkles her nose. "You'd be more thoughtful in the future, correct?"

"Of course," Yuri brushes off the implications that Lilia still has faith in his interpersonal relationships. At least one of them is confident.

They say goodbye to Yakov and Lilia before setting off to get dessert at a nearby frozen yogurt shop. Yuri hangs back with Georgi, full, while Mila and Victor try to stack as much pretzel as they can without the yogurt losing its swirly shape.

"How  _is_ Katya?"

"I don't know," He answers Georgi's question, shoving his hands in his pockets and feeling the material of his pants stretch down before he adjusts the waistband, feeling restless. "It feels different talking to her these days if she comes over to pack."

"You're not used to this behavior."

"I thought we understood each other," They met while Yuri was still an active competitor and he even told her that he'll be hopping on planes every couple of weeks for competitions on their very first date. In the off-season, there's a chance that he might be training over-seas with other skaters or touring the world in ice shows. "When we married, it just...fizzled out. I don't know why it changed after I retired. She knew what my schedule was like."

"Have you always been away for most of your relationship?" Georgi says, picking up a grey shirt and pursing his lip at the design, putting it back on the rack.

"I guess? You know how busy we are."

Georgi fights between giving Yuri a blank look and an exasperated sigh, meeting in the middle with shaking his head slightly.

Yuri frowns, "What?"

"I need alcohol," Georgi mumbles to himself, walking to Victor who has an armful of blue cushions. Yuri stands back, bewildered, as Mila spins towards him and pokes his mouth with a pretzel. He takes a bite and starts chewing.

"What was that about?" Mila asks.

"Dunno, I was telling him that Katya started to become distant after I retired, and he asked me if I've been away for most of our relationship and I told him that with the schedule we have, of course I would. Then he said he needed a drink," Yuri watches Mila's face carefully. "That's weird right?"

"Definitely," Mila nods seriously, but Yuri doesn't miss the concerned look she shares with Georgi in his direction before they leave the store.

 

Somehow, two years' worth of memories are crammed into seventeen large boxes.

Katya is rubbing at the glass sink in the bathroom with a melancholic smile on her face. She's wearing overalls and a striped tee, a cute bandana spotted with small white paw prints keeping the bangs away from her face. Yuri gave that to her on their third date.

They cook breakfast together, side to side like a team, knowing when to get out of each other's way to slip the eggs on the plate and take the kettle off the stove before it starts whistling. It's like a dance, almost, two planets rotating around a star.

They make use of the dining table one last time, watching the morning news before Yuri runs out of the apartment to get the moving truck.

As they take boxes and load them onto a luggage cart the building lent them for the day, Yuri looks around at the spotless apartment. Even if it had the air of a showroom before, the feeling is amplified as it doesn't even resemble a home anymore, Katya's little knick-knacks stuffed in a box.

She decides to drive, knowing the back roads better and avoiding Saturday afternoon traffic. When Yuri sees the small, white townhouse with the green flowerbeds and wrought iron gate, he can't help but grin at her. 

"It screams your name everywhere."

"That's what I thought too," She smiles, putting the truck in park and hopping off. Yuri ties his hair into his best bun and rolls his sleeves up.

He's assembling her bed frame when she starts unpacking, ripping at the duct tape with a swift tug of her arms. He pretends not to have notice when she pulls a framed picture of their wedding party and places it upside down on a dresser for the time being.

"You don't need to blame yourself," She begins quietly as he stops hammering some pieces in, looking up from the floor. Her gaze is lowered. "It...was a mistake on both our parts."

He doesn't know of the mistake she's talking about, he's not sure he wants to.

In the end he just nods and finishes the bed, leaving her to fix her sheets on the mattress as he looks around the tiny living room and grabs a mop.

Oddly, when the sun starts to set, his heart doesn't ache as much when she says goodbye to him, leaning against her door as he closes the gate.

"Remember to do your knee exercises," She calls in her  _I-mean-business_  voice, "It'll get stiff if you don't. And here—"

He turns around and catches the key she tossed at him.

"I'm giving that back," She nods, blue eyes clear, bright even. Then her mouth twists, "Good luck, Yuri."

 

"Wow I imagined Regina to be a flat field of golden wheat," Ivan says as they step off the plane and are treated to a sight of oranges and reds throughout the city, skyscrapers dotting here and there. There were no mountains for sure, but it's definitely not an eyesore.

"Little Fairy!"

"JJ," Yuri greets, walking forward as he sees Isabella in the back with two children around her, "Once an asshole, always an asshole." 

Their conversation is halted when Yuri and Ivan comes into view of the general airport and the fans start swarming in.

"Hello," Yuri hugs Isabella once they wait patiently at the passenger pick up area as JJ hauls his two kids with him and brings the car around.

"Looking good," Isabella warmly smiles at him, flicking the braid. Her hair is a little longer now, twisted in the back in a sloppy bun as she offers him some candy. "How are you, Yuri?" 

"Not bad, my knees hurt from sitting in economy," He gives a side-eye to Ivan, who's hungrily demolishing his fifth granola bar, sitting casually on the curb. " _That_ one still fits in economy and insists that I join him on the international flight."

"Glad I'm of average height," She smiles, walking over to a large black GMC Yukon that makes her look tinier. "Hop on!"

Ivan ends up passing out in the car's backseat, jet-lag getting the best of him. After tugging his shoes off and bundling Ivan into his bed, Yuri texts Leo to see if he's already landed, and finds that he's already downstairs at the lobby next to JJ and Isabella. He quickly drops his bag in his own room. Most competitions follow the same schedule he'd learn to anticipate, dinner with the fellow coaches before hustling Ivan to the first official practice tomorrow morning.

"So, my son wants me to ship him off to you," JJ throws an arm around him, dramatically sniffing. Fatherhood looked surprisingly good on him, the silver reading glasses on his nose twinkling, "He's your biggest fan."

Yuri crouches and offers a smile to the shy children, "Hello."

"Say hi," Their mother nudges.

"Hello," Irène and Pierre chime in.

Yuri looks back up to JJ, smirking, "Juniors?"

"Not yet, Pierre is nine and Irène is eight," He musses Pierre's charcoal black hair fondly, "Soon little ones!"

They have dinner in the hotel, eventually dragging a sleepy and irritated Seung-gil from his room. Isabella somehow manages to drive to the airport to pick up Emil and Sara in time for dessert, adding more chairs on their already cramped round table before taking her children with her for their bedtime.

"Seung-gil!" Sara cries, "Thank you for the puppy!"

Despite being uncomfortable at the sudden hug, Seung-gil pats her shoulders firmly, ears reddening. Yuri's seen the Instagram post— Seung-gil apparently contacted his favorite breeder and gave Sara a husky, much to her husband's chagrin. "No problem. Happy birthday."

Emil bumps his shoulders with Yuri, winking, "Sup?"

"Long flight?" Yuri pours him whatever's left in the wine bottle, clinking his glass as Leo takes a picture next to them. "How long did it take you?"

"Fifteen hours," Emil stretches, his back popping loudly as Seung-gil makes a face. "Yours must be longer though."

"Nineteen hours of no leg room," Yuri grumbles as JJ shuffles them for a group picture. They hide the wine bottles and pose, before breaking off into small groups and ordering dessert. "How's the baby?"

The thing with meeting up with his former competitors is the fact that not one conversation goes without mentioning their respective husband/wife or kids. Or dogs, plural, in Seung-gil's case. And Sara's now, he guesses.

"Beautiful, I have pictures on my phone!" Emil shoves his screen at Yuri and Seung-gil. It's lost in the sea of hands as everyone coos over the screen. "And how's Katya?"

"We've divorced," Yuri deadpans, cutting to the chase as everyone falters. He's become exceptionally good at killing the mood these days.

"Oh, Yuri," Sara turns her does eyes at him, "I'm so sorry to hear that!"

He shrugs, knowing that he only needs to power through the sympathy before everyone else turns back to what they're doing with a forced air, "It's fine, thank you."

"I thought you two were good," Seung-gil sips more wine. Yuri glances down at his phone to make sure that Ivan doesn't need rescuing before looking back up. "Sorry to hear that, though."

Yuri grunts something into his wine cup, wishing that there was gin instead. Or even vodka.

"I heard you met Otabek, Yuri," Sara quietly says to him. Beside him, Seung-gil perks up slightly but turns a deaf ear to their conversation, choosing to ask Emil loudly what the most horrifying thing is about being a father. "Mila told me."

"Ah, you two were attached at the hip before she retired, I remembered."

Sara colors slightly, "She was worried."

Yuri sinks lower into his seat, ears starting to feel fuzzy. He feels warm enough to shrug the hoodie he's wearing and roll up the long sleeve he's wearing, "I know, I wish there was a way for her to stop worrying about me. I've been doing that for most of my life," He tries to shove the picture of Otabek in his riding leathers away from his mind.

"Did you say hi?"

"Does screaming at his face count?"

"No," She sighs, "I heard he's in Moscow with the Bolshoi?"

"Something like that," Yuri checks his phone again and tells Ivan that he's downstairs. Ivan whines about food, so Yuri texts him to order some light room service since it's already so late. "Leo, have you heard from him at all?"

Leo and JJ turns, "Briefly," Leo admits, "He told me he was going to move to Moscow when I visited for his birthday last year."

"Beka doesn't settle," JJ says, sipping on some water as he takes a bite out of the chocolate ganache. "I thought after Boston he'd finally stay in Almaty, but imagine my surprise when he told me he's packing his suitcase again."

The night ends when Yuri's back and knees starts to kill him. He bids goodbye to everyone and hears the hotel workers breathe a sigh of relief when his table starts to break up. They're the last ones here, he realizes. 

Ivan is wide awake when Yuri checks on him, halfway through a BLT sandwich as he watches something on his laptop. 

"They're not competition videos! I'm watching Ponyo!"

"Good," His drunk self pats Ivan's head like he's twelve years old and crying over a failed double toe-double loop. The soft buzz under his fingers is pleasant enough, "I don't need you to be nervous for the practice skate tomorrow."

"Your breath stinks, Coach."

Ivan edges ahead of Emil's student, but in the end, it's Seung-gil's eighteen year old Dae-hyun who wins gold. Ivan seems pleased enough with silver, beaming as the Leroys send them off to the airport.

"I'll see you in France in a few weeks," JJ shakes his hand. Isabella comes up and presses several boxes of maple cookies to him. Yuri smiles at the gesture and waves at them after security, dragging his suitcase as they fly home.

When he lands, he likes the picture of him and Isabella from JJ's account, driving Ivan home and saying hello to his bleary mother from the car before blessedly entering his building and unlocking his door.

The house is extremely quiet, but not dusty.

Odd.

There's cement in his blood when he peels open his eyes, registering the familiar ceiling as Yuri feels like he's been plowed over by a truck. His knee is bitching at him, and there's a knot in his back from the plane ride home.

He grabs his phone and orders Ivan to stretch well on his day off, slowly crawling out of bed and falling on his face.

Sofiya scratches at the door, meowing softly from outside, and he smooths his hair into a ponytail, heart leaping to his mouth when he catches another movement from the edge of his vision.

" _Tatiana!_ "

"Good morning," His real estate agent greets. She pushes a cup of coffee towards him, sitting at the breakfast bar. "I have news."

Yuri sighs, accepting the cup and going to the kitchen to grab Sofiya's cat food, digging around the different cupboards since Mila must have misplaced it when she came in to feed his cat, "Were you the one who dusted this place while I was gone?" 

"You gave me explicit permission that I could come in and show potential renters around while you were abroad. So I did. I also did your recycling and fixed that slow drain in the second bathroom."

Yuri wryly sips his coffee, wondering if he's paying Tatiana too little, "You're very efficient."

"I try my best," She dips her head courteously, "I've also found a renter for you. He's in his thirties, like you are. He's often travels for work, and if he's in town, he has very unusual hours. Very polite, very quiet. I think you'll get along with him."

Yuri stares at family's long time friend, mouth curving up, "Liar, you've already gotten a deal out of him."

She laughs, scratching her chin, "You read me so well, but yes, he offered to pay up front two years' worth of rent. You previously said that you trust my judgement, so I approved it."

He gets a mental image of his stuffed schedule, "When's he moving in?"

"Today," She says, checking the clock, "You might want to change into something more sharp."

There's a knock at the door and Tatiana dislodges herself from the breakfast bar, striding confidently to the door as Yuri yawns and fixes his hair, not bothering to dash to his room. He's the landlord after all. They can accept his disheveled state or get out.

"Oh, good morning!" Tatiana cheerfully greets, opening the door wider as Yuri takes a final sip, ready to lift his head in greeting when his eyes meets warm brown belonging to none other than—

"Otabek—" He swallows the coffee too fast and splutters as Tatiana's smile vanishes off her face. 

"Ah," She says, looking straight at a wall, "A predicament came up, I see."

Between a stiff looking Otabek holding two luggages and a sweating Tatiana, he looks between them awkwardly. Otabek looks down at the ground as Sofiya sniffs his shoes while Tatiana refuses to meet his gaze. 

He goes to the kitchen to fetch another cup, "Come in," He says, throat dry, "I guess we have a lot to talk about."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one word: BACKSTORY

Yuri pokes his spatula at the eggs, willing them to cook slower as the TV plays in the living room. Otabek and Tatiana are making polite talk, addressing the gloomy forecast for the rest of the week as he stalls in the kitchen.

Sofiya is purring in Otabek's lap when he brings three plates stacked with omelette, potatoes, sausages and a sad attempt of okonomiyaki to the breakfast bar. Katya took the dining table with her so he raises an eyebrow pointedly as his house-guests slowly lumber towards the bar stools.

"Oh, this is very good," Tatiana says, chewing the okonomiyaki with too much cabbage and not enough seafood. If Yuri gave that to Victor, he'd have endless amount of complaints before lamenting about the ones his Yuuri, so kind and perfect, made. She's sitting in the middle, acting as a barrier.

"I'll make it properly for you next time."

"Surely the contract can be waived?" Otabek quips from the other end of the bar, watching Sofiya claw her way up his leg. Yuri glares at his fork, body buzzing with a nervous energy that he hasn't felt since his first competitions.

"Not unless you're willing to pay a fee," Tatiana promptly says, watching Yuri choke when she discloses the amount of rubles Otabek has to hand over.

Even Otabek blanches at the price, dipping a potato in the yolk of his sunny side up in a way that tells Yuri that he's slowly panicking on the inside.

"Why don't you just stay? For now." He hears himself say.

Tatiana twists her head at him, long hair whipping Otabek clear across the face. She gives him a look that resembles a frog, eyes bugging out, "I'm sorry?"

He repeats himself, "Stay for now. You can house hunt while staying here. Just...pay as you go along," It'll be like a phone plan. Sort of.

Tatiana turns to Otabek, "You did say that you've checked out of the hotel already. And you have to go abroad next week for a few days."

Yuri calmly eats his eggs.

"That's..." Otabek manages to sound unruffled, pausing, "...generous of you. I'll take up your offer, then."

Tatiana gives him the papers to keep for now before leaving with the promise of dropping by sometime next week with the revised contract. Her eyes were still apologetic once Yuri shut his door to a close.

It then opens from the outside, Otabek walking in juggling two large instrument cases as headphones are clamped around his ears. Yuri watches him for several moments, leaning against the wall as Sofiya gazes curiously from her climbing tower at their new guest. Otabek doesn't meet his eyes once.

" _Um_ ," Mila says when he picks up her call, standing in his open kitchen as Otabek walks back and forth between the door and his bedroom, " _Is it just me, or did I just saw Otabek come in and out of your apartment? With boxes?_ "

"It's temporary," Yuri says, ending the call before his hearing is taken away by force.

 

 ✧✧✧

 

" _Yuri!_ "

Otabek shoots between the beds and runs up to him as his hair, mussed up, falls out of its usual neat style. Victor mysteriously vanishes from Yuri's bedside as Otabek stops at the foot of the bed and latches onto the big lump that used to be his knee.

"Uh, hi," He lamely greets, wincing when Otabek glares at him. "What?"

"You didn't get a clean take off didn't you? For that quad flip," Otabek demands, hitting home as he lowers himself in the chair that Victor used to occupy. Yuri leans his head over to the side and sees Otabek's laces pooling on the floor. His long program costume peeks out under his jersey.

"You didn't even tie your shoelace."

"You're  _hurt_ ," Otabek dryly says. "Instead of a hug, Denis gave me my keys and the directions to this hospital."

"But this is the Olympics."

Otabek rolls his eyes and grabs his hand, kissing his knuckles, "Zhanym, I would relinquish my future entries to the Olympics to ride in the ambulance with you," He lightly fingers the IV drip, "Are you feeling any pain at all?"

"I'm feeling great," Yuri supplies, ignoring the mass of bandages around his right knee.

Otabek doesn't look convinced, but when the TV shows the last skater's scores, Victor hungrily swipes the curtain back separating Yuri and the rest of the emergency department back, phone clenched in one hand as he shrieks and points at the TV.

" _Gold, Yurochka!_ "

Yuri grins, hugging both Victor and Otabek as he watches the TV give a play-by-play, slow-motioned shot of his quad flip-triple toe before the Beijing 2022 logo dances on screen and switches to the scoreboard. 

" _Silver_ ," He sings in Otabek's ear.

Otabek grins into their kiss, hand warm and gentle on the curve of Yuri's jaw.

 

" _Don't forget to ice that knee_ ," Otabek says from all the way in Almaty, sunglasses hiding his eyes as Yuri hears the traffic in the background. Yuri woke up to a very empty bed that morning, confused and irritated that his best pillow is not at his side when he remembered that Otabek has hopped on a plane for a few weeks to do Olympic promotional stuff. He and the rest of Kazakhstan are hoping that Almaty wins the bid for 2026.

Yuri waves the ice pack into view, "Icing it."

" _Good_ ," Otabek grins, before something catches his attention, " _Ah, Denis is waving at me, I need to go now._ "

"Kick their ass."

" _It's a promotional video, not a competition_ ," Otabek laughs, but he bids Yuri goodbye all the same.

He notices his knee becoming stiffer these days. It takes longer to stretch it out, and Yuri has popped out of several quads before Otabek pulled him aside, Yakov's concerned eyes trailing them before he procures athletic tape and runs to the first aid room.

"Treat him well," Yakov grunts as he walks over, as if Yuri's heart doesn't seize and threaten to bubble over his throat every time Otabek turns his full attention to him.

Yuri rolls his eyes, watching Otabek speed walk back with ice, "I know."

Yakov watches them with something like a smile on his weather lined face before calling for a break.

When Almaty wins, Yuri slams into Otabek as he steps out of the bathroom and shoves his phone at his face, yelling. All thoughts of competitors and Worlds coming up is gone as Yuri runs his hands through Otabek's damp hair, tugging him towards the bedroom as Otabek eagerly pulls his shirt over his head.

 

Otabek has to fly back to Almaty several times throughout the off season, first to visit his family and assure his friends that he's still very much alive and not dead, and second to do more Olympic stuff. Yuri doesn't mind; it gives him a chance to walk around town by himself, eyes skating over the different rings on display until he finds the perfect one.

Madina secretly wrapped a tape measure around Otabek's ring finger while he was napping on the couch and promises Yuri solemnly that she'll bring the secret to her grave.

Otabek's entire family attends to Phichit on Ice, and Yuri has a dance off on ice against Yuuri, a jazzy number playing above as Otabek and the rest of the cast claps along. Madina throws him a bouquet, waving excitedly next to her parents as strobe lights flicker over their happy expressions. 

Otabek's mother gives him a knowing look when they hug him goodbye at the gate, heading to one plane as he and Otabek return to Russia.

 

He refuses to pull out of the GP series.

"It's not that bad," He insists, much to Otabek's frustration as he continues to pace in front of Yuri's hospital bed. The nurse at Yuri's side wisely keeps her mouth shut as she hands him over some strong painkillers and a cup of water. "Just need to ice it and I'll be good!"

Otabek points to a faint stress line on his smooth forehead, "Do you know what I call this? Your stubborn streak."

"I'm swooning," He replies dryly. A passing nurse offers Otabek a stool to sit on. "Really, Beka, it'll be fine. Just a light sprain."

Just-a-light-sprain becomes an actual, pain-inducing sprain, and he's forced to sit at home while Otabek hooks the laptop up to the TV, the Russian Nationals playing as Yuri sneers at the skater that took his gold.

"Such a sore loser," Otabek comments, kissing his hair and ear. He keeps mind of Yuri's knee and drags Yuri over to his chest, nipping at the skin behind his jaw. It's an honourable attempt he makes to pull Yuri's rapt attention away from the new skaters moving up into the senior circuit.

For all of the icing and diligent exercises he makes Yuri do, Otabek is not smiling when Yuri sits on the foot of his hospital bed, their roles reversed.

"Just a sprain?" Yuri, twenty-one, says lightly.

Otabek glares at him as the doctor continues to bandage his angry red ankle. He'll be sitting out of Worlds for sure, and Yuri skates his heart out with not his own wishes to fulfill, but Otabek's too, and breaks his previous world record. 

They spend that summer going to Madina's wedding. Yuri dabs his eyes repeatedly with a handkerchief as Otabek rubs his back, slightly preoccupied as he tries to recount how many cups of alcohol Yuri had downed in the after-party. 

"Beka," Yuri over enunciates, holding onto Otabek's face as one of his many cousins catches them and snickers. The ring is burning a hole through his pant pocket. "I really, really, really love you."

Otabek's face is burning, "I love you too."

More cousins laugh at them, offering to get some water for Yuri before leaving them to their own devices in the corner of the dance floor. He has a vague memory of what happens next, but he must have been rattling off the many things he loves about Otabek because there's damning evidence from one of the cousin's phone next morning in the form of a long video. The morning after nearly makes Yuri abstain from drinking alcohol.

"You hurt his heart, I break your face," Otabek's youngest niece threatens at a family lunch before they have to leave.

Yuri pinky-promises the little girl that he won't do that before another girl spots him and begs him for hair-braiding permission. Afterwards, Otabek takes a picture of their masterpiece and uploads it.

They come home, win several medals, and the Russian Nationals occur without Yuri for the second year in a row.

Yuri spends a night staring at Nikolai's gravestone, keeping vigil as the temperature drops into double negatives. He doesn't move when it starts snowing. Eventually, Mila joins him, laying a bouquet of flowers on the white marble before hugging his stiff shoulders.

It's Otabek that takes him back home after two days, pressing a cup of miso into his hands and spooning the liquid into his thick throat. Yuri inevitably catches a cold and sleeps through the holidays, unable to cheer himself up as Otabek curls up next to him, a constant in his life. There wasn't a lot of words exchanged, but they understand each other despite the silence, talking through gestures.

Come 2025, Otabek's body finally catches up to his charismatic performances and he retires at Worlds.

They don't talk about what Otabek plans to do next, that comes later.

"You wanted to win for Kazakhstan! You worked so hard for Almaty to win the bid."

Otabek gives him a tired smile, "I don't think my body can keep up," They don't talk of the singular bronze Otabek won in the last GP series. "It's fine, I have no regrets."

Yuri stews in his own emotions, upset that Otabek left the ice without trying. But then again, Otabek is three years older and his landings were never as clean after he came back with his ankle healed.

In a call, Zarina tells Yuri that a surgery wouldn't have made a difference since the damage was too much. Yuri might have yelled at her, but once he calms down and cried enough, she accepts his apology.

 

The ice feels foreign. Yuri stumbles as Mila and Sara announces their retirement together. He pushes through it all and tries not to focus too much on the newer skaters entering the senior circuit, all who are younger, stronger and healthier than him. In a way, it completes the circle. A child prodigy could very well overthrow him for the gold.

"You need to stop," Otabek says, hands gripping his skate guards as Yuri whizzes past him to launch himself into another quad flip. He touches down messily and pushes his bangs back behind his ears, recalling the silver he got from Russian Nationals. The rink is dark, it's after hours.

Otabek actually comes on the ice, intercepting Yuri by grabbing his wrist and dragging himself closer, both of them spinning before coming to a stop. 

"That was seventy-eight, zhanym," Otabek says hoarsely at him. Yuri knows it really means,  _You're going to destroy your knee_. "Please stop."

"I'm still young," Is what he says. Otabek's face drops, "I can do it, Beka! You don't understand— Alexie and Igor are good candidates for Almaty, I can't quit now."

"You're still twenty-four and you're torturing yourself like this!"

Yuri slaps Otabek's hands away, eyes prickling with rage, "You don't know how it feels to be chased after! Do you know the weight of everyone I'm carrying on my shoulder? I have to be better than them!"

The blades crunch against the ice and Otabek takes a couple of steps back. His face is stony.

"Don't know how it feels? I know exactly how it feels to have an entire country's hope riding on my shoulders," He grounds out, lowering his head as Yuri takes a step back. "You tore your LCL, you're not going to make it if you continue." 

"I  _know_ I tore it! That's why I have to practice harder! I need to make up for lost time."

"You're being stupid! Do you not want to return to the ice? Why are you sabotaging yourself?"

"At least I want to return to the ice!" Yuri screams, his voice ringing, "You just left without trying!"

Yuri knows what he just said is a verbal equivalent to a slap. He immediately wants to take it back, knowing from previous experiences with Yakov that anything he says under anger is harder to take back.

Otabek's eyes turns flat, "I see."

"Beka—"

Otabek skates away from him, putting on his guards and stiffly grabbing his bag before leaving the rink.

It takes Yuri a couple of minutes to feel his legs again, to realize that his entire body is shaking. He barely manages a couple of steps before crawling the rest of the way to the entrance and clawing at his laces, running to his shoes and bag before dumping his equipment into the duffel. He locks the rink up and runs home, stumbling and gritting his teeth against his knee, knowing that he can't compete with a motorcycle.

"Beka."

Otabek has his headphones on, volume cranked up so high that Yuri can hear the bass and metal crashing around as he zips a luggage to a close.

Yuri feels his throat close up, scrabbling to stop Otabek's fury driven hands, pressing against the strong fingers and looking up to see Otabek's stormy gaze directed down at him.

" _Let go_ ," Otabek snarls.

He watches the door slam to a close, Potya slinking around his ankles and chirping at the door in confusion.

He doesn't fall asleep until Mila texts him that Otabek crashed over at her couch, watching the moon make its way across the dark horizon. Only then are his dreams plagued with nightmares and he twists in his sheets before giving up all pretenses, deciding to watch the long hand of the clock continuously loop around until the morning sun streams in through the half closed blinds.

Mila brings him bad news when she comes to the rink, catching him as the little girls she's coaching continue to laugh as they do figure eights.

"He's gone?" Yuri asks blankly, sitting on his warm up mat. It was such a simple sentence, but he hears it as if there's water covering his ears, muffled. 

"He said...he wanted to get out of Russia. I saw him book a plane to Colorado," Mila twists her mouth unhappily. "Leo will take care of him, don't worry. I've already sent him a text."

Yuri finds himself nodding along. Leo is a good friend. Otabek does calms down on his own pace, and it's better if Yuri doesn't pester him. Maybe the sunny weather is just what they all need, honestly.

Yuri wakes up after New Years to find movers knocking on his door politely. They take the rest of Otabek's possessions.

" _Hello._ _You've reached Otabek Altin. I'm sorry I can't answer your call. Leave your name, number and message and I'll respond back to you at the earliest possible time."_

"You don't know his new number?"

" _No, he only sent us a letter saying that he's doing okay,_ " Madina warbles through the call, " _Mom and Dad are freaking out. We're all worried._ "

Impulsively, he changes his long program two weeks before the Olympics. Yakov tries to stop him, but fails when Yuri personally begs Lilia to help him.

_Where are you?_  He thinks, stepping onto the ice as the stadium roars.

He wins gold in Almaty, but he doesn't find Otabek. He sits on his hotel bed in Gangneung seven hours before Worlds starts, scrolling through Otabek's social media. The last thing he posted on twitter was his retirement news.

On Instagram, the last thing he uploaded was a picture of him and Leo hugging at the immigration gate, taken by a helpful airport staff.

Yuri corners Leo at Worlds, pulling him away from his coach during morning practice.

"Did he say anything?"

"Nothing, he just left my house one day and told me that he's thankful I let him crash over," Leo's eyes are sad, "What happened?"

Yuri skates terribly, and comes in dead last. He manages to say hello to his sponsors before escaping to his room, ordering a bottle of whiskey. He screams at Otabek's voicemail, listening to it over and over again before sleep finds him.

He spends a few weeks in Hasetsu, digging his toes into the sand and feeling miserable. As if all of the sadness in his life finally had caught up to him, he spends an entire afternoon crying on the beach, kicking the foam blindly as the waves silences his screams. 

It wasn't until the seas turned rough and night is falling that Hiroko and Mari find him with puffy eyes and a hoarse throat in ankle deep water, shivering.

By 2027, he has picked himself up slowly, gluing the little pieces carefully as Victor and Yuuri move permanently to Moscow to pursue coaching. JJ retires after winning silver in Almaty, and Yuri sends over his congratulations when his kids take their first steps on skates. 

Sara's getting married in Santorini, so he boards the plane with Mila and ignores the paparazzi that ambushes them at the airport. The climate is perfect for an outdoor wedding and he treks back barefoot on the soft sands, helping Mila as she holds one end of her long gown, both of them making way for the large gauzy marquee where the party is being held. 

When they dance, he puts his face in the crook of her neck. In his alcohol-hazed mind, he might have told her that she smells all wrong. She only laughs sadly as they sway slowly, rubbing his back. He tells her how good she looks in dark blue.

Afterwards, she gently pries his fingers off the champagne flute. Then, she takes his phone away from him and ends the voicemail he keeps listening to. 

 

Mila sags against the couch once Yuri finishes putting down the last box in his new apartment.

"Katya huh?"

Yuri shrugs, "What of it?"

"Nothing, does she know that you're a cat print fanatic? Has she seen the pictures?" Mila cackles as Yuri digs in his box to throw the decorative pillows Yuuri gifted him at her.

Katya runs a busy schedule herself, so she's no stranger when Yuri has to hop on a plane so very often for competitions. She fits exactly right under his chin and has wavy brown hair, mischievous blue eyes and a quick wit.

She enters his life easily and for the first time, he feels his muscles lift into a smile.

They go cliff diving in Greece on their two year anniversary. They tour around Europe together and Yuri guides her through the cities he's visited, sitting in cafes and grinning as she aims a peace sign at his camera. He starts winning again.

Yuri buys another ring while he's in Sapporo with Yuuri, who's flown back to be Japan's ambassador for 2030. They make a side-trip to Hasetsu and Yuri hands Mari a big bag of souvenirs as Hiroko and Toshiya welcome him home. Yuuri makes katsudon. Yuri impresses the dinner time regulars by making okonomiyaki for them all.

Life is good.

He cleans Nikolai's grave every now and then, refusing Katya's help politely. After two tries, she understands that it's something he wants to do on his own and kisses his forehead whenever he leaves. Yuri follows her knee exercises and ices his leg accordingly, realizing that winning doesn't make him happy anymore.

Russia, China and America in that order for Sapporo 2030. He and Guang-Hong are the oldest in the circuit now and he hazily thinks of Victor and Chris standing off to the side in banquets years ago, slightly out of place. On the morning of the closing ceremony, he wakes up and feels like a teddy bear that has been handed down through many hands. His ankle is sore, his knee is bothering him and his back is aching. He doesn't remember the last time he woke up feeling like he wants to skate his heart out.

He breaks twitter when he announces his retirement, remaining calm as the reporters in the room start yelling and scrambling to be the first one whose question gets answered.

Yuri thinks they should have seen it coming, but maintains his composure as Victor settles the crowd down with a smile. This news is long overdue. He still doesn't know how his knee took the choppy landings in Sapporo.

"How do you feel?" Victor says once they're done, sitting in a cafe as Yuri sips an americano.

"Still processing it," He replies, flickering over Victor's wedding band and feeling the little box in his pocket. He raises his white cup, "To coaching."

"To Yura yelling at Yegor and Ivan!" Victor enthusiastically thrills. Yuri aims for his shins and apologizes to the cafe.

Katya greets him at the airport, her brown hair twisted up as she picks at her emerald sweater. He hugs her leather covered shoulders, "Nice jacket."

She winks at him, pulling him towards home. His heart stutters under his ribs at the sight.

 ✧✧✧


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things get serious

"My life is a sitcom," He tells Nikolai's tombstone one afternoon, the white marble never looking more judgmental than ever, "I got divorced and my ex-boyfriend is now my tenant."

The tombstone is predictably silent, but Yuri could imagine his grandpa's reaction, which would be to laugh before sobering and telling him to not worry so much. Then he'd laugh some more, sending him off with enough food to feed three Ivans.

That was a few days ago. Today, Natalya throws what used to be a banana at his face, giggling. Yuuri, busy in the kitchen, somehow manages to catch that and gasps, hurrying over with a wet cloth to wipe his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri attacks her small, pudgy hands next with a wet wipe from his pocket, tugging at the resealable package. "Say sorry to Uncle Yuri, Talya."

Yuri wipes his nose clean of the mushed fruit, "It's okay, terrible twos, right?"

Natalya cheekily smiles at him, all blonde curls and bright blue eyes, and Yuri makes a face at her, causing her to giggle and race her towards her play mat. She points to a squishy ball made of felt and Yuri lowers himself down, rolling it towards her. She rolls it back to him.

"I must say that I didn't expect this," Yuuri's voice floats towards him as he takes away Natalya's snack and enters the kitchen again, shutting the child gate behind him.

"Neither did I," Yuri snags Natayla around her armpits, catching her before she falls on her bum. She blinks her eyes at him before tugging at his blond hair.

"Yuwi!"

"Hello."

"Ball!" He rolls the ball back towards her and she looks at it for a few moments, lobbing it to him. He has to stretch his arms to catch the short throw, but she claps at the sight. "Again!"

"Yes, should I throw it to you?"

"Throw ball!"

Yuuri comes back smelling like apple dish-washing soap, climbing over the fence to sit against his living room wall. Natayla brightens and dashes over to him, making herself home in his lap. She holds the ball up to Yuuri.

"Papa play ball?"

"It's okay sweetie, you throw to Uncle Yuri. Has he found any places around Moscow?" This last part is directed to Yuri.

"No," He says, repeating to Yuuri what Tatiana had said to him, "There are places available but they're either too expensive or too small for his belongings. I think he's signing a contract with my agent right now."

"For how long?"

"A year."

"I'm home!" Victor bursts into the living room, holding up groceries as his nose starts to run. He looks effortlessly fashionable even with a sweater that has seen better days from baby food and dark circles. "How are my lovelies?"

"Dada!"

Yuri watches Victor swing Natalya onto his shoulders, wincing a little as she digs her hands into his hair to hold on, "Has she eaten yet, Yuuri?"

"Papa," Natalya pats his forehead importantly, "Play ball!"

"I will after I put the groceries away, my little princess!" Victor steps over the child gate and swings her, placing her against his hip as he picks up the bags. "Do you want to count how many apples I bought?"

"Apple apple apple," She rambles, voice fading as Victor carries her towards the kitchens.

Yuri looks at his finger, wedding-ring-less, and sends a silent prayer that there at least wasn't a child involved in the divorce.

"Is Otabek home right now?"

Yuri checks the time on his phone, "I think he's still at the Bolshoi. There's four ballets and three operas coming up next month and he's forced to sit in all the rehearsals."

"You don't eat dinner together?" Yuuri inquires softly. "What about breakfast?"

"He wakes up after I leave for the rink," Their schedules are perfect; Yuri wakes up earlier than Otabek and goes to bed earlier as well. Otabek is riddled with so many deadlines that if he is home, he goes straight to his room with a manic look in his eyes. So far, there hasn't been any awkward moments in the apartment.

It's too...orchestrated.

Yuuri's dark brown eyes are too innocent for his liking, "I heard that there was a fight from Mila when he gave the music to Ivan...how did you manage to convince him to accept the contract?" There's an underlining question of  _why_ he offered it in the first place instead of chucking his skates across Otabek's nose, but he ignores it for now. Yuuri should be used to his impulsive behaviors.

"Easy, I opened my mouth and asked him. Then his brain clunked around for a few minutes before agreeing to me. It was the most logical decision: he has a budget and lots of instruments. My apartment was the only one that met his criteria."

"You're such a little shit," Yuuri mildly says, before a wail makes itself known and both of them jump up to their feet and hurdle over the child gate.

When he finally has time to visit Katya, handing her several boxes of the maple cookies from Isabella, she invites him to stay for lunch.

"Otabek Altin is back?" She asks, what once was a smile on her face smoothing into a blank expression. It's very unnerving, and Yuri immediately swallows, feeling the food travel down his chest in a constricted fashion. "Since when?"

"I'm not sure. Funny thing is, he's my new tenant," Yuri says calmly, aware that he's about to tread a very fine line. Katya only stiffens whenever Otabek is mentioned for some reason. "What a coincidence, right?"

He looks up and sees several emotions written all over her face before settling into a frown, "I see," She brushes her bangs back before putting down her fork and knife, ignoring her salmon. "Is he here for work?"

"He's with the Bolshoi."

"As a dancer?" Amusement, maybe mortification.

"No, no, he's their in-house composer or something," He pokes an asparagus, deciding to change the subject. "This is good. You should tell me the recipe."

"Okay," Katya is all smiles again, leaning on a hand as she watches him clean his plate.

His good mood becomes watered down as he drives back home, staring blankly at the road, his windshield wipers work overtime to ensure optimal vision in the storm. She had looked happier without him. He didn't even notice how much she was glowing until today. 

With their failed marriage once again giving him a headache, he sticks his key into the lock and enters the apartment.

 

If he were to describe his tenant in three words, Yuri would reply with: ghost, ghost and ghost. He knows Otabek is there, but he never sees his actual body moving around. Sometimes there's music he can hear from the gap between the floor and door, but he sees Otabek's shoes more than he actually sees Otabek himself. 

He shouldn't have expected anything after all, he's played hooky for six years.

So he's surprised when he stumbles back from the bar to find Otabek home, lying horizontally, illuminated dimly by the floor lamp in a far corner, green suit jacket sloppily slung over the back of a couch. The top two buttons of Otabek's white dress shirt are unbuttoned, the grey waist-coat giving him a slim silhouette. 

There's a crumpled black cloth that used to be a bow-tie on the coffee table.

For a moment, Yuri doesn't know what to do.

He can do this, he mentally tells himself. He can be perfectly reasonable, courteous and polite when faced with his drunk tenant. Yuri walks slowly to the hall closet, digging out an afghan as he returns in a semi-straight line, shaking it out before draping it over Otabek's figure.

"Mmm," Otabek shifts, blearily opening his eyes.

"You're drunk," Yuri manages to say when Otabek blinks confusingly at him before sitting up slowly, hair disheveled. There's a whiff of wine next to his cologne.

"It's my birthday," Otabek mumbles, crashing back on the cushions he propped behind his head. "Ow."

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Please," Comes the thin reply, and Yuri shuffles over to his kitchen, digging for two cups and some painkillers in his bag. He sets the kettle over medium heat just in case Otabek has slept most of his drunken stupor away and wants tea.

He takes one peek at Otabek over his breakfast far, letting the tea bag steep for longer than the recommended time printed on the can before psyching himself up to leave his kitchen.

Otabek is looking decisively more awake when Yuri returns. He's also more agitated, hair sticking up from its neat parting as he runs his hand over it, talking to his phone in English. It must be someone from America.

"—Just returned home. I had a few drinks and I'm not in the shape to pack a suitcase or take a plane.... No, I can't make it. Really. Forward my apologies to them.... Yes, goodbye."

"Work?" He asks as he drops some painkillers onto Otabek's waiting palm. 

"One of my classmates landed their first gig in the symphony and reserved tickets for me," He swings back the cup of water with the proficiency of someone sober and stands up.

Then Otabek turns faintly green and sits back down, "I'll stay here for a few more minutes," He hoarsely chokes, looking nauseated.

"You were always a chatty drunk," He says, moving back towards the kitchen. The tea is definitely over-steeped and he fishes the tea bag out. The mantra  _be normal be normal be normal_  is repeating itself in his head. 

The apartment is too quiet; he can't help but think that Otabek can hear his heartbeat loud and clear.

Yuri firmly tells himself not to be foolish, leaving the kitchen.

"Drink this," Yuri forces the tea in his hands, thankful for semi-darkness since his skin can't hide a blush.

Otabek is attractive; even time couldn't change that.

In the darkness, his age is easy to spot. The once sharp features are blurred— the cut of his jaw is still prominent, but there's less tension there. The corners of his eyes and forehead are slightly lined, whether from stress of laughter, he doesn't know. The undercut and the clean-shaven chin remained. 

He looks older and younger at the same time, a ghost of the twenty-six year old who had disappeared. 

Time looked good on him.

"I missed you."

For one horrifying moment, Yuri thought that his brain-to-mouth filter had failed him, and that he'd blurted out that stupid phrase even though it's Otabek who caused his grief and left him. 

Otabek looks up, eyes soft, waiting for an answer.

Oh.

"We are  _not_ talking about this when you're drunk," He spits to the overwhelming silence, aware of the jump in his pulse, the warmth spreading from his cheeks to his neck.

"We're not?" Otabek enunciates each word carefully.

" _We're not_."

"I'm not that drunk. I'm sorry for being an ass to you at the rink."

"You were not sorry, you were  _pushing_ me away," Yuri hisses, remembering the heat on his face and the desperation propelling him forward as he raced to catch Otabek, both in the past and present— even at the same rink— only six years separating the two events that markedly flipped his world upside down, "What the fuck was your deal?  _You knew_  I was sorry!"

His voice cracks at the end, pain bleeding out of his throat as Otabek looks on with pained, unguarded eyes. He looks so— so apologetic and remorseful that Yuri feels his anger bubble up beneath the haze of alcohol in his head. He wants to know why they're talking about this now. Why out of all times it has to be now.

"I did," Otabek replies quietly, "I knew you were sorry and I still left."

" _Six years of nothing, Otabek!_ "

He knows how to hurt people now. Otabek does too, forcing to evolve. They all change in the end, maybe that's why Katya left him— because he wasn't the same person as before. Maybe they only worked when Yuri was still an active competitor. Maybe retiring changed something in him— god knows what because aside from getting over the temporary career-change-induced sadness, he really can't figure it out for the life of him.

"I know."

" _No_ ," He snarls, "You don't."

Yuri slams his bedroom door hard, making a point before stripping out of his clothes and pulling the sheets over him. He wants to go out for a drive in his car, but he can't leave his room unless he's willing to bump into Otabek again. 

Sleep does not come quickly, and he's thankful that tomorrow is a weekend when his eyelids finally droop, the skies outside starting to lighten.

 

There's a plate of microwavable waffles and a bottle of the maple syrup on the counter when he walks out of his room. Yuri stuffs one into his mouth, reading the calendar hanging on the fridge while his blender liquefies anything shoved into the container.

Otabek had marked the days where he's expected to be at the Bolshoi by circling the date with red ink. The entire calendar could basically be red instead of green. Yuri flips the next month over. Otabek might as well sleepover at the Bolshoi in December instead of commuting.

"Made you something," He says as he invades Mila's apartment, a mirror image of his except that hers actually looks like a home and not a showroom. She peers into the cup before taking a sip.

"I think the color can be improved," She motions to the grey-purple smoothie before smacking her lips, "But the taste is good...sort of."

"Noted," He makes himself comfortable on her couch and winces when his back flares up. "God I hate aging."

A cushion smacks his face, disrupting his view of the Harry Potter re-run on the screen, "You're only thirty!" She offers some of her yogurt to him as they watch tiny Harry trying to out-fly an angry mother dragon.

"Did something happen?" Harry is desperately clinging onto the castle as the dragon scuttles her way towards him.

Yuri shrugs, hugging a decorative pillow, "Do I seem angry?"

"Yes."

"If I were that dragon," He nods to the Horntail breathing fire, "I wouldn't hesitate to do that to Otabek."

"My, my, it's not even nine yet and you're already thinking of homicide?" A kettle starts to whistle from the kitchen and Mila climbs off the couch, grabbing her yogurt cup with her. Yuri spends the next few moments alternating between watching the film and admiring the large painting Mila has of British Columbia's forests and mountains hanging up on the mantle. It's a nice picture.

Every character in the movie are cupping their ears from the wail coming out of the egg when Mila comes back with a big bowl of popcorn and two mugs of tea in one hand.

"Did he say something?"

"'I missed you.'" Yuri uses air-quotes, "He came home drunk yesterday. I'm guessing there was an after-party at Bolshoi. He was in formal wear."

"Tipsy?"

"I couldn't tell. Sober enough to try to stand up before nearly puking. He wasn't slurring," He says this all between mouthfuls of popcorn. If Lilia would see him now, she'd throw him into the barre room and force him to hold a position until his muscles turn to liquid while lecturing him about the merits of healthy eating. Mila, however, stays quiet, so he opens his mouth again. "After he said that, I told him that I didn't want to hear it while he's drunk but he insisted that he'll repeat it to me tomorrow if he needs to and apologized for the way he acted at the rink."

"He did?"

"I didn't believe him. He wanted to act like an asshole and admitted it," His hunger has been mostly satisfied so he's nibbling on the popcorn now, chewing them halfheartedly. It's as if most of the irritation clouding his head has been cleared away. He feels slightly better.

Mila lowers the volume down, and Yuri's stomach twists since she only does that when she's serious.

"Where's Otabek right now?"

"Probably the Bolshoi? Hey! Are you texting him?" Yuri uses his long reach and snags the phone away from her, watching the three little dots wiggle on the bottom before Otabek replies that he's at the gym, is there something wrong? Yuri is probably still sleeping if she wants to go inside the apartment. "Oh wow he actually replies. With more than one word. What a miracle."

Strangely, Mila turns the volume back up and continues on her popcorn mission. Yuri frowns at her 180 attitude but follows her example, watching Ron Weasley attempt to waltz.

"Baba, are you okay?" He asks cautiously.

"Totally fine."

"Are you sure?"

She turns to give him a look, "I usually have to let you rant for a bit before I could ask you some questions. You fire up really easily whenever it comes to Otabek, haven't you notice?"

Yeah, okay, he might not have the insight to foresee that since Otabek has been MIA for the past six years and recently came back by barging into his life in the form of saying a few choice words before gallivanting off on his motorcycle and turning his once stable coaching life into hell. He tells Mila that and watches her lower the volume back down. 

"You should listen to what he has to say."

It took years to kill his habit of immediately shooting down an idea that sits strangely in his chest, "I don't owe him anything."

"Of course you don't," She turns her body a little towards him, blue eyes serious, "But you've never gotten closure from him ever since he left, Yuri. It could be good for both of you, you can be friends again maybe."

_Like the old days_ , goes unsaid. It rings between both of them despite how much gruffness Yuri puts up everyday to pretend that he hasn't been affected by the entire ordeal of Otabek leaving. Mila has been his longest friend, perhaps even the one who gets to see every single one of his ugly days where he spends it shooting back vodka or whatever vile alcohol is nearest to him and crying over Otabek's voicemail.

"You really think we can be friends again?" Vulnerable. Her eyes widens as the sun peers through the low-hanging clouds, brightening her apartment a little. They're turned towards each other on the couch and he's thirty and still feeling like he has no sense of direction in life.

She smiles, "I don't see why not."

 

"You're up," Otabek dumbly says, like he's seeing things.

Yuri pauses, one hand on the knob of his bedroom as Otabek holds a kettle in the kitchen, his hair defying gravity, the only light coming from the mounted bulbs in the kitchen. It gives him a warm, golden glow.

This wasn't supposed to happen. What happened to the beautifully orchestrated schedule of both of them not bumping into each other that worked well for several weeks?

"And you're half naked."

Otabek places the kettle down with more force than necessary and mumbles something about grabbing a shirt, bee-lining to his bedroom. When he opens the door, Sofiya springs out and Yuri gapes as his cat strolls out and starts winding herself around his ankles.

He picks her up and holds her away at arm's length, "So that's where you've been hiding. No more treats for you," He threatens.

She meows at him, blinking sleepily as she starts kicking the air with her paws. He bends over and lets her jump away before walking into his kitchen and pulling out a pan.

Otabek comes back quietly and shies away, dipping his tea bag repeatedly as he remains a shadow at the furthest edge of the counter top. The digital clock on his stove reads 04:38 AM. Yuri consults his fridge to see if he has enough cheese for an omelette before shutting the door.

"Do you want some?" He asks over his shoulder after a moment of awkward silence, poking the half-cooked sunny side up while sprinkling a blend of cheddar and mozzarella on the surface. He places a lid on that and cuts away the plastic holding the breakfast sausages with a knife. 

Otabek's voice is oddly strangled, "Sure."

He turns sharply, wondering why Otabek looks pale and sick before he catches a picture of Natalya and him on the fridge, taken by Yuuri during the summer months when they were at the park. It's easy to put two and two together. Yuri has blond hair and light eyes, as does Natalya.

As the sausages cook merrily, he has a mind of being petty before the Mila in his head shakes her head sternly at him.

"She's not mine," He turns around and pushes a plate of eggs and sausage to Otabek, jerking his chin to the picture. "That's Victor's and Yuuri's kid."

It's funny how Otabek's relief still has the power to make his stomach flip like he's sixteen all over again, "Oh, I see," The relief is so potent that Yuri looks up from his own plate and watches Otabek admire the picture in a new light now, the back of his head still defying gravity.

He stabs his sausage, quickly finishing up before going back to his room to change. The sun isn't even properly up, not that it should have— they're well into fall and the sky doesn't lighten as early as it used to. He trades his t-shirt for long sleeves and a light grey pullover he can toss aside easily onto the side boards if he gets too hot. 

Tropheé de France is in one week and he doesn't have time to get side-tracked, quickly stepping into his shoes and grabbing his keys.

"Yuri."

"What?" He says to the door.

"...When...will you be back?"

He takes a deep breath, turning slightly, "I might stay overtime. Ivan's second GP competition is next week," That phrase should ring some bells for Otabek as well as provide an explanation of why he's avoiding the massive elephant in the room. 

There's a muffled sound, maybe a plate being put onto the counter, and Yuri strains his ears in the sudden silence after that, wondering if Otabek went back to his own room when his voice appears right next to his ear. 

"I'll lock the door."

"Thanks," He manages, ripping himself away from the familiar, sleepy-Otabek-esque scent and his detergent, his feet carrying him to the elevators as he scrubs his face vigorously with his hands. He puts his forehead onto the cool panel, stabbing the down button repeatedly.

His grandpa always lectured him about the importance of driving with a clear head, but the streets are still early enough that he's one of the few cars on the road, the sound of rain hitting the glass combined with the ever present whooshing of the windshield wiper fading in his ear. Otabek acted...friendlier ever since the drunk confession. His bedroom door, usually closed to maintain a semblance of privacy, is open now. It's no surprise that he can't find his cat if she's hiding in Otabek's room since he avoids it like the plaque. 

He unlocks the rink door and goes straight for Yakov's office, where he opens the electric box, the lights spluttering before bathing everything in an off-white color.

Yuri steps onto the ice, the only figure alone in the large rink, his blades eating up distance as his body slips into compulsories. Yuuri had once told him that he skates alone when he's anxious, and he can see the appeal now, letting his body move while he tries to untangle his problems, some calm piano playing overhead connected to the stereo system.

"Coach?" A small voice calls out.

He snaps his head up as Ivan skates closer, eyes wide, "Oh, it  _is_ you!"

"Is it seven already?" He could have sworn that it was only five when he left the house. He swivels his head to the nearest dialogue clock on the wall, squinting at the hands.

"I'm nervous. I usually come early and jog around the block until the rink opens, but this morning I saw lights and thought that you're Coach Mila," Upon closer inspection, Ivan looks like he barely slept, purple half moons weighing his eyes down.

"You look like you need sleep."

"So do you, your dark circles are terrible."

Yuri throws him a half-hearted glare, "You can do compulsories with me then."

Ivan, relieved, joins him, tugging on his gloves as he sheds the thick navy blue sweater that has his university logo on the front. For a while, it's only the sound of metal scratching on ice.

"I didn't know that you and Mr. Altin made up," Ivan offers cheerfully, dimples forming as he throws him a tired grin.

Yuri's toe pick catches a dip on the surface and he nearly becomes one with the ice, "What?"

Ivan points upward, confused, "That's Mr. Altin's original solo piano collection?"

Yuri wants to know exactly why Otabek is permeating every last corner of his life, taking a deep breath, "That's not mine. Mila was the one who locked up yesterday night." 

Ivan's face goes bloodless, "I'm sorry," He hoarsely whispers, loud in the rink. He's got this expression, an  _oh-god-did-I-ever-fuck-up_  type of horror complete with a haunted look. 

"Hey, it's fine, honestly," Shrugging and maintain a semblance of nonchalance as best as he can, Yuri skates figure eights around Ivan. He thinks of the beach at Hasetsu, willing himself to emit calm waves.

Ivan doesn't look convinced, so Yuri sends him off to start warming up for real, skating away and hurrying to his drawer to get his secret stash of lollipops out. Just in case.

His slip up must have been affecting him more than he was letting on because Ivan, his Ivan, last year's silver GP finalist, pops out of his best combination jump, losing his balance so badly that he falls on his rear. He then proceeds to stick his legs out and groan into his hands, still lying on the ice.

Yuri skates up to him, wondering if he should play good cop or bad cop this time around.

"Vanya."

Ivan peeks at him through his fingers, "I really am sorry, Coach."

He gets the feeling that they're not talking about the program, and looks around, catching Victor's and Yegor's concerned eye before pulling Ivan up, "Let's take fifteen. I'll get your snacks, go meet me at the bench."

Ivan is rubbing his feet like a kicked puppy, sitting on his mat as Yuri crouches down and joins him. Their skates are placed side by side, soakers in place of guards.

"Why are you beating yourself up? I'm not offended."

He passes Ivan a juice box, the teen gloomily sucking on it until it's empty before hesitantly looking at his shoulder, "Mr. Altin is a...sore spot isn't he? One of the junior girls heard you two scream at each other. And...everyone knew your history...with him."

"...It's complicated."

"That's what I thought," Ivan ducks his head down again, watching Yegor slip into a serpentine and Victor counting out loud the beats in a clear voice. "You just...looked so torn when I saw you in the morning. I thought you were listening to Mr. Altin's music to clear your head. That's all."

Torn. He'd looked torn.

"To tell you the truth," He says, careful in choosing his words, "Mr. Altin is my tenant. Maybe that's why I looked troubled."

_Lies_ , his heart hisses.

_Shut up_ , his brain chimes.

"No fucking way," Ivan gasps, before clamping his mouth shut with a stricken look.

Yuri leans in close, "Yes fucking way. My life is a sit-com gone wrong," Surprise is better than sadness, he'll take what he can get, "Fate loves to laugh at my face."

"Is that why you're so troubled?" Ivan asks, "Are you going to evict him?"

" _Vanya_ , how old do you think I am?"

"Sometimes when you're with Coach Victor you act like you're fifteen. Do you remember the time we were in Osaka last year for the NHK Trophy and you got so lost navigating the metro line that he had to ask the Japanese police to hunt you down? You spiked his coffee with hot sauce when we came back."

He flicks Ivan's forehead, "The correct answer is that I'm an adult. A responsible,  _mature_ adult."

"Ow!"

"Don't worry about me, just worry about that gold medal. Dae-hyun's going to be in France too."

"Yeah, I know," Ivan shoves his feet into his skates, "I'll get back to work," With that, he takes off into the ice, interrupting Yegor heading for his water bottle by grabbing his hands, both of them spinning as Yegor yells that Ivan is a menace.

Yuri watches Yegor chase Ivan around the rink, smiling at the scene as his mind is far, far away. Despite the laughter pealing around him, he can't help but be bothered that even Ivan picked up on his moods. 

"Yura?" Victor calls out, "Where are you going?"

"Coffee!" He yells, tired and in need of a sugar rush.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is curious as to what Otabek's music sound like, I would think his orchestral pieces sound like Abel Korzeniowski's (especially from the W.E. and Romeo and Juliet soundtrack) works. For a more electronic-esque type of music he made as a conservatory student in Boston, I thought of dné's Asos Model Crush.
> 
> recently i've been wondering if i'm capturing yuri's voice in the best way possible since i'm more used to writing in otabek's perspective (￣ヘ￣|||)

" _Yuri Plisetsky_."

He blinks, lowering the phone down to check the caller ID before putting it right to his ear again, "Lilia? Is something wrong?"

" _You're Otabek Altin's landlord, right?_ "

"Word travels fast," He mutters under his breath, switching off the stove momentarily as he pads into his living room. Otabek would be at the theater with her at this hour; his shoes are missing from the rack, "Is something wrong?"

" _Here_ ," Lilia's voice sounds far away, " _You talk to him. I'm not paid to be your middleman_."

Otabek's voice, quiet and slightly harassed sounding, is low in his ear, " _Yuri?_ "

"...Yeah?" He dully answers back, wondering what it is he wants that made Lilia pick up her phone to call him despite her hatred of technology.

" _I...forgot a set of fixed scores in my room. Could you bring it to me? Please?_ " After a very long pause, Otabek's voice is even quieter, " _Yuri?_ "

He sighs through his nose and tugs his apron loose, entering Otabek's dark bedroom, "It's on your desk?"

" _Yes—_ " Yuri switches the table lamp on and spots a manila folder tucked between the table and an instrument case, most likely a clarinet or oboe judging by the size, grabbing it as he snatches his car keys from the counter, "— _It's in a large envelope._ "

"I found it. Where should I meet you?"

" _I'll wait outside at the steps_ ," Otabek says in a rush before Yuri ends the call, slipping his phone into his pocket. 

His car passes the speed limit several times, peeling into the parking lot as he crookedly parks. Yuri realizes it's raining, and presses the envelope between him and his zip up hoodie, throwing his car door open as a sheet of water immediately soaks him.

Otabek is even more soaked, the light blue material of his dress shirt turning translucent, clinging to his chest and elbows as he runs up to Yuri, hair sticking to his forehead.

"Thank you," Otabek feverishly says, running back inside. His fingers had been ice cold; he must have been standing outside for a long time.

Yuri throws a glance at the empty lots near his car, hesitating. His body moves for him as his brain becomes quiet, entering the dry and warm air of the Bolshoi. The familiar gilded ceiling greets him as a volunteer peer curiously at him.

"Yuri Plisetsky!" She squeaks.

The excuse is already formed and out of his mouth by the time his brain catches up, "Lilia is asking for me, where would she be?"

The volunteer points to the set of stairs that leads further into the lobby, "She'll be inside. They're having a dress rehearsal, please keep in mind of the noise."

He thanks her and follows the half wet footsteps of Otabek's loafers on the lush, red carpet. He's been here for different shows, though this is the first time he's here that the hall is quiet.

Otabek, a tiny figure down in the orchestra pit, is busy distributing sheet music as the strings tune, weaving through narrow spaces. A good-natured flutist laughs when he upsets her stand, waving off his apologies. The lead ballerina on stage giggles to her friend, the cast hovering behind her.

"And what are you doing here?"

He spins around to see Lilia arching an eyebrow. She follows his line of sight and hones in on Otabek bending over, explaining something to a french horn player. 

"I..." He trails off. "I don't know."

She continues to look unimpressed, "He's been distracted all day long. Brooding like a child in his corner as the maestro rehearses. It's most unsavory."

"He's distracted?"

She makes a little noise of disbelief like it's clearly Yuri's fault that Otabek is acting strange, "He ignored his coat and ran straight out for the door when you hung up!"

"Oh."

"It's been three days," Lilia continues testily. "The maestro will rip him apart if he continues. He's lucky that you're willing to bring his forgotten sheet music. This is the final dress rehearsal for this dance."

"Is he usually brooding?"

"No, he usually makes notes on his own music or throws out suggestions if one of the players pull him aside during break. I don't know what he does when he's backstage, but that's what he does when he's in the front with us— oh what are those two doing?" She hurries off in the direction of the stage as two danseurs are arguing in low voices.

Left to his own devices, Yuri finds an empty seat and wipes the rain away from his face, watching Otabek freely. He looks tired, standing next to the conductor as his mouth moves. They consult the sheet music before Otabek is dismissed, the orchestra silencing as Otabek walks off to the side and settles on a plastic chair.

Yuri watches him pinch the bridge of his nose, a pencil in hand as he pays rapt attention to the stage. He sneezes quietly, posture hunching over.

An image comes to mind, Otabek feverish, sheets tangled around him as his shirt is soaked with sweat, the hay fever that knocked him out during Worlds when Yuri was still growing like a tree.

"Altin," The maestro says in a nasally voice, frowning, "What key are we in?"

"For?" Otabek looks down at the score in his lap.

"Valzer-duetto."

"...D major," The maestro gazes skyward as Otabek shoots up and runs straight for the violins, "Sorry, I should have taken out that sharp—"

"Take five, everyone."

He turns his head to find Lilia giving the orchestra pit a look akin to pity, brows furrowed as she crosses her arms tighter. Yuri swallows, feeling a stab of empathy as he watches Otabek ask each first chair to come up and hand over their sheet music while the rest of them take a break.

 

On the morning of his flight, he belatedly wakes up to the tune of soft strings coming from the space between his floor and door.

He peeks out and sees Otabek's door slightly ajar— a beautiful cello number crooning out before it stops. Yuri quickly throws on some clothes and cracks his door open.

Curiosity piqued, he tip toes slightly, seeing the back of Otabek's head as he faces his computer, the three screens showing a music sheet. The bow, placed on the computer desk, is picked up. The same melody is repeated before it abruptly stops. Otabek leans forward and clicks on a measure, digitally changing the note by a few keystrokes before leaning back into his seat and picking up the cello again.

Something furry brushes past his ankles and he watches Sofiya slink in through the gap, jumping onto Otabek's bed and butting her head against his knee. Otabek makes a pleased sound and sets the bow aside, rubbing her ears with the hand that's not holding the cello's neck.

"Hello," He croons softly.

The scene makes his heart squeeze. Potya used to do that, going to Otabek for ear rubs.

Yuri can't think. He just watches his cat wave her tail happily through the air and the way the sun catches Otabek's hair and turns it dark brown, the strong curve of his mouth backlit.

For six years, there's been a gaping hole where Otabek left him. It was with the combined effort of Yuuri, Mari, Hiroko, Mila, Lilia, Yakov, Georgi, Victor, and Katya that he shook himself out of the self-deprecating hole he sat in. He wonders whom Otabek had. Probably Leo. JJ. Isabella. Perhaps Seung-gil.

What would the present look like if they've never separated?

Sofiya eyes the bow hungrily and Otabek tucks the bow into a case as Sofiya jumps, settling herself on Otabek's lap instead.

Otabek smiles down, stroking her cheeks and scratching lightly at her head. His eyes flickers up idly before his fingers stop.

"Yuri," Otabek stands up, head snapping down as Sofiya hisses at the sudden movement. She streaks away and Yuri bends down, scooping her up as she snuggles into his neck.

"You're being loud."

A wince, "Oh. Sorry. I— I'll close the door."

Yuri feels himself nod curtly, turning away as a click tells him that Otabek has cut himself off again, this time for his sake. The apartment feels cold even though he's wearing two layers, straining his ear to hear if the cello melody will be continued.

He shoves open the door, breathing in Otabek's scent and getting a clear view of what his bedroom looks like. The walls are covered with five staffed line paper held by tape, melodies meticulously scribbled in pencil, half of them circled or crossed out. There are little sticky notes in different colors, yellow, green, pink, light blue, next to his computer with phrases like  _sfz on bar 678, Peter and the Wolf_  and  _divisi violin II, Romeo and Juliet allegro giocoso act 2 scene 5_ underlined thrice with red ink.

Otabek is staring at him with his mouth slightly open, caught off guarded. He's wearing the same expression he had on his birthday, naive and sincere. Open.

"It sounds nice. The melody, I mean" Yuri fumbles, looking down at the floor, "I...wasn't here to yell at you."

"Oh."

Soft. He raises his head up and sees Otabek looking at him, one side of his mouth quirking up. It's his embarrassed smile.

His heart squeezes again, and he's struck with the fact that his words could make Otabek  _happy_ , however odd that may be to him. He could tell him what he really thinks and Otabek will listen.

Like...like old times.

They could talk, smooth out the past and gain closure.

His heart aches.

"Yuri—" Otabek says at the same time his phone goes off.

" _Coach! We're going to miss our flight!_ " Ivan worries at the other end. " _Are you out of your house yet?_ "

"I'll be there soon," He promises, suddenly hating the entire ISU and RSF, "I'm just exiting the parking garage," He runs back into his room and throws his travel sized toiletry bag and the first few article of clothing his fingers touch into the carry on, wrestling with the zippers. He ends the call and checks that he has his passport before dashing out of his room.

Otabek is at the door, clearly eaves-dropping on the phone conversation as he holds out Yuri's jacket, "Safe flight."

Yuri grabs onto the jacket, his muscles taut, ready to shoot himself down the hallway and into the elevator and car garage like he should be doing, except that he's standing still and looking into Otabek's eyes.

"Promise me we'll talk."

"I promise."

Otabek watches him turn a corner, hair streaking behind him.

 

He doesn't really know what to expect when he came home— anything but Mila and Otabek sitting together on the couch, clearly waiting for him to return. 

Mila tackles him into a hug first, the last ray of the sun catching her red hair as it sets early, "Congratulations!"

"It's Ivan who won gold," He hugs her as Sofiya chirps at him from his ankles. She's still beaming when Otabek returns from the kitchen with a cup of water, "Oh thanks."

"We watched it live," Otabek scratches his chin, a small smile on his face. From the corner of his eyes, Yuri sees Mila's smile widen, "It's been a while since I saw Seung-gil and JJ. They look good."

They both drag Yuri to the breakfast bar, where there's a bowl of borscht waiting for him. He and Mila talk about each competitor and their chances of winning the GPF, going over what Ivan would need to do in the next couple of weeks to prepare himself, and in turn, what kinds of scores he needs against Yegor in the Russian Nationals. When Mila pulls out her calculator to really start crunching the numbers, Yuri belated realizes that Otabek is still there, and turns, half-expecting him to have silently disappear.

Otabek gives him a smile, "Feels like old times," He says, doodling some random melody on a scrap piece of paper. He hums it; it's Ivan's long program piece.

Mila has to leave— a dinner with her cousin who's in town— and they see her out before Yuri locks the door and looks at the floor. His spine is screaming him to do a bridge right there and then.

"Long flight?"

"Not really," He answers Otabek's question, sitting down next to his suitcase and sitting cross-legged, bending forward until his forehead touches the cool floors. His back snaps in several succession. "Joints are stiffer these days. Sitting down for a long time makes it worse."

When he looks up, he's surprised when Otabek is sipping on something that's definitely not tea, the amber liquid glinting in a lowball.

"Liquid courage," Otabek waves it, the alcohol sloshing gently. "I figure you wanted to talk about it now."

"Is that my whiskey?"

"It's brandy, and it's mine," He walks towards the kitchen and crouches out of sight, popping back up with his glass full. Yuri warily watches him lower himself down on the floor, stomach churning with apprehension.

"I was angry," Otabek starts, voice low as he looks unseeingly at the space between him and Yuri, broad shoulders slightly hunched, "I didn't want you to destroy your body just to have a few more years or have your name printed on the records again."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Yuri remembers Madina crying into his ear, their collective phone calls being unanswered until they realized that Otabek had gotten a new number. He snaps, "You didn't even tell your family where you were! Your sister was crying to me!"

Otabek has no answer for that, "I just wanted to be alone. I knew I should have called them but I just.... For once, I wanted to be a nobody for a while. When I calmed down enough, I didn't know how to face you."

Rendered speechless, Yuri opens and closes his mouth for anything to say— but his head is mysteriously empty for once.

He reaches forward and snatches the half-empty lowball out of Otabek's grip, the amber liquid nearly sloshing over the rim as Otabek jerks his head up, "You could have CALLED! Or email! OR TEXT! ANYTHING, OTABEK!" He swings the rest of the brandy down, his throat burning as he waspishly hisses, "You're an adult! I'm sure you could have managed a text!"

Months of nothing. Where he should have been focusing on his knee, he was worrying about Otabek, wondering if he'd gotten stranded back-packing through the Rockies. The reason that Otabek didn't know how to face him sounds so fake to ears other than those who know him well that Yuri wants to shake him out of pure frustration.

Otabek stays silent, looking down at the floor.

"' _At least I want to return to the ice. You just left without trying_.'" 

His last words, spoken back to him like Otabek had committed it to memory, both of them hurting each other. Knowing him, Otabek probably did, "You never even...told me you wanted to retire. You worked so hard for Almaty, I wanted us to stand on the podium together," Yuri chokes.

"I only won a bronze in the GP series that year, we both knew I wasn't going to make it any longer," Otabek takes the glass from him, setting it down with a click. "You used it against me. You thought I left without trying? I left because I didn't want to injure myself any further. Call if self-preservation if you will, I was trying to do the same to you."

"Why?"

"I can't stand seeing you hurt."

"What...do you mean?"

"You sat out of Nationals twice and it killed you to be on the sidelines. Olympics was next year and I knew it'd destroy you if you had to withdraw," Otabek swallows, throat clicking in the quietness.

A laugh bubbles up, bordering on hopelessness as Yuri buries his face in his hands, "Yeah, you're right. I'd be furious."

"...We were both angry. And I was the one who ran away," Otabek's age shows in the now dark living room, eyes dim, "It's...basically my fault."

Yuri scoffs, "You weren't angry when I shouted in your face that you left the ice without trying?" As much as he knew that Otabek had some wrong, he couldn't take all the blame. Yuri said hurtful things as well.

Otabek keeps quiet but the twist of his mouth tells Yuri that he's right.

Yuri recalls the way his eyes met Otabek's visor, "Why did you act like that when we met again? All...cold."

The corner of Otabek's mouth goes up without humor, "Seeing you again made me remember what you said to my face."

"Are you still angry now?"

"No, of course not. This—" Otabek vaguely waves his hand around the air between them, "—was all a big misunderstanding we could have avoided if I didn't run away."

"Beka—"

"We've had fights beforehand," Otabek cuts him off. "We always forgive each other afterwards. The difference this time was that I ran away and became a coward," He leans forward to Yuri, warm breath puffing over his mouth, "And I'm sorry."

He could barely see Otabek's eyes. The apartment is now dark, the skies outside black as evening sets in. Several other high-rises far away glimmer as Yuri swallows the ball caught in his throat at their close proximity.

"I'm sorry too, for assuming things about you."

Something disturbs his hair; Otabek gently pats him with a few fingers before drawing away, Yuri instinctively moving forward before he freezes.

"Thanks, Yuri," Otabek's voice is warm, relieved. Yuri's eyes could see a shift in shadows as Otabek rises to his feet and flicks on the lights, throwing everything into startling clarity.

He makes a disgruntled sound as he throws his hand to belated block the light.

"Sorry."

"A warning would be appreciated."

"Noted," Otabek bends down to pick up his glass, padding over to the kitchen with the cushion tucked under one elbow. "Dinner?"

"You brought groceries?"

Otabek hums, opening the fridge and sticking his head in, "I did. Come help me."

Yuri stands up on unsteady legs, feeling like the world had taken on a different look and feel even though nothing of such occurred. He should really shower and wash the grime of travelling away, but he can't resist watching Otabek cook.

"Do you want to chop the tomatoes? I'm going to boil the pasta now."

Yuri's distracted, replaying the dizzying electricity that was tangible in the air while they were sitting in the darkness, the slight head pat, Otabek's dark eyes.

"You didn't come to the wedding," He starts conversationally, unsure of why he's approaching this topic. 

Otabek frowns a little, "I didn't think you actually wanted me to be there..." He looks up and glances around, "Where...?"

"We're divorced. Her name is Katya."

"I remember," He murmurs quietly, "The wedding invitation was cream coloured. Why...?"

_Why did you two separate?_

Yuri shrugs, "I don't know, I'm not sure I want to know, to be honest," He clenches a half cut tomato so hard the seeds squirt out. He hastily relaxes his hold on them.

Otabek has turned back to the stove, but Yuri knows he has his thinking face on. The smell of onions, garlic and spices fill the air. With dinner, the apartment becomes a little more inviting, Yuri hating the atmosphere less and less as they sit next to each other on the breakfast bar.

"Is your knee okay?" Otabek stabs a cooked tomato.

"Not really. The best I could do these days are triples, the occasional quad if I really warm up but the landing is messy. You were right," Yuri admits, staring at the grey sweats covering his knee.  _That was seventy-eight, zhanym, please stop._

"Was I?" Otabek asks in a quiet tone, eyes lowered as Yuri turns his head to him, "You managed to win gold in Almaty and Sapporo."

"You watched?" Yuri thinks of Yakov's pleading face two weeks before the Olympics, the shouting matches with him and the other coaches from the RSF, reworking his entire program despite the gold medal he put on the line.

"...Eventually I did."

"Too painful?" Yuri could barely think of Otabek shying away from something. He was always the braver out of the two of them, chin held high in the hardest of times. He wonders which aspects of Otabek had changed and which ones are still the same. 

Otabek looks deep in thought.

"It was hard to remind myself that I had no place in that world anymore. I spent twenty years, more or less, dedicating myself to it. But the inevitable arrived and I had to leave," Otabek's eyes flickers over to him, a little sad, "You felt it too. I heard from Chris when I went to Geneva for a conference."

The kitchen feels like an alternate universe, a little branch of time that split in that instance. He wondered exactly how many nights he spent wishing for Otabek's return before the subject itself became a taboo amongst his circle and he's left to squish it in the back of his mind, gathering dust and only coming out when he's inebriated.

Otabek has red marks where his reading glasses had dug into the bridge of his nose. Another change from the old Beka he knew.

"Twenty years is a good run."

"...It was, I made everyone back at home proud."

His smile was still sad, so Yuri grabs both their plates, ignoring Otabek's weak protests that he could do the dishes tonight. He knows he's being watched, immersing his forearms in the hot soapy water as he feels around for utensils, trying not to show the emptiness he feels from Otabek.

When he looks up, Otabek has retreated back into his room, though he's left a little sticky note on Yuri's door. The apartment is filled with muted brass resonating with melancholy. The printing is neat and slightly slanted.

_Thank you for listening_ , it says.

 

"Everything good?" Mila asks when Yuri drops into her apartment for lunch. 

He nods. She doesn't jump up but looks at his subdued manner and draws him into a hug. His chin fits right over her head. 

There was a time where it had been the opposite, her chin fitting over his head.

"Just...a lot different from what I had expected."

Otabek's duties at the Bolshoi lightens and he catches flights for oversea conferences at weird times of the night, trying to be mindful of Yuri but ultimately failing when Yuri wakes up at every little noise and sees Otabek out the door himself. 

The Moscow Symphony hires Otabek to write a piece. They celebrate with Mila, popping open a bottle of champagne. Yuri had been warm and fuzzy that night, leaving the voicemail he so often turn to unattended.

He looks forward to coming home now, opening the door to see if he'd beat Otabek in the rush hour traffic. Life is returning to what it had used to be.

Almost.

Yuri muffles his screams into the cushion.

"Sorry," Comes Katya's voice as she works his muscles into submission, "You're super stiff, my god, what have you done?"

"I came here for lunch with you, not to be brutally bent into a pretzel."

"I've seen photos of you when you were young, Yuri, don't lie to me. You were once a pretzel," She tugs on his knee and the universe and his tendons realign themselves, relief immediately setting in as he inwardly thanks whichever guardian angels were listening to him. "There, you can sit up now. Maybe you should lay off the economy seats next time."

"Maybe," He works his limbs into an upright position, flexing his knee, "That feels much better."

She wiggles her fingers, "Magic hands," Her birthday present sits on one of the dining chairs, his craft marked by the sloppy bow he attempted, "So, how's everything?"

"The usual, Yakov's complaining of his arthritis, Georgi's moaning about his back ache, and Mila and I are stressed that our students are stressed.."

"But Ivan won the Grand Prix Series."

"More pressure for him to do well next year for the Olympics," Yuri wryly smiles as commercial for the Olympics slide onto the screen. He sees a quick flash of his and Victor's face as it cuts to a figure of Ivan and Yegor's skates taking off for a jump.

They continue to watch some American Christmas movie with subtitles. Yuri sinks further into the couch and lets his eyelids flutter down, warm and happy. He wouldn't have expected to feel like this with his ex-wife out of all people, but maybe—

"And Otabek? How is he?"

He opens his eye and gauges her reaction. Her jaw is clenched.

"We're good," He says, a little slow. Katya frown's deepens. "Katenka?" He then sits up, worried, "Are you crying?"

Katya releases a big sigh and shakes her head, wiping her eyes furiously. Yuri stares at her as she reaches for tissues from the coffee table, saving her mascara. He's confused.

"Are your parents okay? Is it your sister?"

"No, no, they're all fine," Her tissue comes out black but her make up is still in place if not slightly smudgy.

He mutes the television and goes around so he's looking her straight in the eye, crouching on the floor as one knee presses into the floor, "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, tears spilling from her eyes again.

"Katya," He hands her more tissues, "You're crying."

"No kidding."

He's never good when tears are involved. Especially if they're female tears. He rubs her knee with a hand, "Should I make some tea? Coffee?" 

She gives a watery laugh, "No, it's fine Yuri, really," She looks down, looking defeated. "I'm just overreacting."

Then Katya throws him a bright smile, entirely fake, but he could see how much effort she's forcing into it, so he backs off, lowering himself next to her on the couch again as she unmutes the TV. She gives a couple of sniffs throughout the movie and pats her eyes dry several times, but overall, there's no more visible tears by the end.

"Thanks for the present," She says as she sees him out the door, drawing her cardigan closer to her body, "Drive safely."

"Happy belated birthday," Yuri hugs her, feeling her tiny frame against his. Her shampoo is a familiar comfort, smelling faintly of flowers and fruits. "Call me if you're...upset okay?"

He gets a brief flash of surprise before she composes her face into a smile, "Okay," Her face is fond, if not a little sad. Yuri doesn't understand but leaves her, glancing back at the doorway before he drives home, Katya still looking at his car with the same look in her eyes.

 

He spends New Year's Eve at Lilia's apartment, Natalya running underfoot as she chases Sofiya throughout the house, giggling. Wine doesn't usually agree with him, but Lilia has good taste, and he's on his second glass when Victor pulls up old youtube videos of Yuri's first season as a senior and coerces them all to watch it.

"You were so short!" Victor sniffs tearfully into a tissue. "So small and so cute despite your terrible mouth."

"Why did you marry this thing?" He turns to Yuuri, ignoring Victor's scandalized gasp.

Yuuri grins and winks, holding Natalya in his arms, "True love."

Yakov shushes them, taking up one love seat as he props a foot on a stool, a hot pack resting on his knee. Yuri groans and sinks into his seat when the next video that automatically loads is one of Victor running towards Yuuri in the Cup of China.

"Fifteen years," Victor beams, "It's been so long yet it feels like yesterday!"

"Get your sappy love shit out of my face."

Victor gasps, offended, "There is a  _child_ in the room!"

Yuri sneers, "Yeah, it's you."

Over where she's playing with Sofiya, Mila snorts, pulling out her phone to no doubt update Georgi, who's back at home with his own family to celebrate.

Victor turns his head in time to see Otabek walk back into the room, "Otabek! Yuri is so rude!"

"That's not surprising," Otabek dryly says, watching Natalya squirm and run up to him, tilting her head up and gazing at him. Yuri hides a smile against his wine glass as Otabek bends down, "Hello."

"Talya," Yuuri calls, "Ask Mr. Otabek if he can play the piano for you."

Yuri laughs into his cup as Natalya unleashes the full force of her puppy eyes. She'd been staring at the Fazioli sitting in the corner all night, becoming increasingly pouty as her parents tell her that they can't play, and that Mila can't, and that her favorite uncle Yuri can't either.

"Shall we?" Otabek leans down to offer a hand, waiting. She lets him lead her to the piano where he lifts her easily onto the bench, playing a rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Stars. Natalya claps when he launches into the next part of the song, fingers moving faster.

" _Kaze no Toori Michi_ ," Otabek says, plunking down some chords as he looks up and smiles at Yuuri. 

He looks comfortable, at peace even, a stray hair falling out of his careful arrangement as he slows and opens his eyes slightly. Natalya squeals in delight when he plays the bright tune of Ponyo.

Yuri takes a video and sends it to Ivan, watching his student yell through text about how great he is.

_Tell him I lOVE HIM!_

Yuri snorts, "Hey, Ivan loves you."

"Is that so?"

"His favorite is Ponyo."

Natalya perks up at the mention of her favorite movie, "Me too!"

Mila is staring at him with concerned eyes when he turns around. He frowns.

She shakes his head, returning to her phone.

Baffled, Yuri turns his attention to the television, laughing with Yakov when Seung-gil and Yuuri crash into each other during a warm-up when they were juniors.

Right before the European Championships, Otabek peeks out of his room, "Do you want to hear it?"

Yuri looks up from the television, entering Otabek's room, "You finished?"

On the screen is Otabek's composition, lines upon lines of music notes. The title is written in Kazakh, and Yuri fidgets slightly as he sits in the chair, Otabek beside him, fiddling with the massive headphones before placing them over Yuri's ears.

The music is solemn, starting out with a muted french horn sorrowfully crooning before it's joined by the strings, each member of the family being stacked on. It builds and recedes like a tide, and Yuri thinks of Hasetsu, standing at the edge of the beach as he watches the sun dip, orange disappearing as it takes the light with it.

Then vocals near the end, someone humming. It's a female voice. The orchestra tapers down until the solo singer is left, and the last note resonates in the air before fading away.

The little play button at the bottom of the screen stops and switches into a replay, cursor blinking gently.

He has tears in his eyes, and he blinks them away furiously as he pulls off the headphones.

The kitchen comes to mind, both of them sitting side by side in silence as Yuri studies Otabek, taking in each crease of his eyes and the way he tries to compare the past Beka with the present one.

The revelation isn't earth-shattering, he's known of this for some time now; Otabek inevitably, despite the pain he caused Yuri and the silences along with unanswered voicemails, crawled back into his heart.

"Is it good?" Otabek mistakes his silence for dislike, and Yuri quickly shakes his head.

"No, no it's really good. Really...heartfelt."

Otabek looks relieved. On another screen, he presses a button, sitting back on the edge of his bed as the printer next to the computer comes to life and starts churning out the score. "I have to fax it to them today, they're debuting it for the Valentines Special."

"What does the title mean?" Yuri absently wonders if a month was enough to prepare the orchestra, but the main melody is simple to a fault. The work is beautiful, he wasn't sure if it was appropriate for a Valentines Special but it worked.

A pause, then:

"'Beloved,'" Otabek replies quietly.


	7. Chapter 7

He faces the cameras and stands next to Ivan, trying to reassure his student telepathically that he did well even if he stumbled a little in the free program. Silver in Euros was still good. It's not the end of the world.

The reporters aren't making it an easy feat. Two of them had purposefully tacked on Yuri's title of five time Olympian skater before Yuri gives the camera crew his most menacing smile and diplomatically changed the route of the questioning so well that Victor, who was beside him with Yegor, had looked mildly impressed.

Ivan mopes for several hours after the medal ceremony, avoiding Yegor and the rest of his teammates at all cost after dinner. Yuri puts his foot down, however, when he has to haul Ivan to exhibition practice the next morning.

At the banquet, he plasters on a fake smile and goes through the niceties he skipped when he wasn't a coach, shaking hands with greasy sponsors who look at his skater like Ivan's a piece of cattle. Some of them point out his little fall and Yuri firmly tells them that Ivan is a talented skater and that Russia will do just fine in the upcoming Olympics.

"You look deep in thought," Yakov gruffly shuffles over to him when Ivan's sponsors move onto their next victim to torture.

Yuri scans the crowd for Lilia, finding no trace of her mustard yellow jacket. He tries to keep a mental tab on sponsors he still has yet to greet, "Thanks for talking to them when I was younger."

"Are you ill?"

Yuri scowls, "Is it so weird that I'm thanking you?"

Yakov snorts, "You've grown, but I still remember the troublemaker you were," Yakov sips water on his doctor's orders to cut back the alcohol if he wants to keep his liver in a healthy shape, "So? Is something wrong?"

"I guess."

"Even yanking a tooth is easier than this."

When Yuri doesn't respond, staring at the plush carpet and its patterns, some classical music playing overhead, Yakov sighs. 

"Is it Katya?"

"No," Well, now he's reminded of her crying episode. And she's not a crier. Ever.

"Mila?" Yakov uncertainly asks.

"Baba's fine."

"Vitya? Yuuri? Georgi? Ivan?"

Yuri shakes his head.

Yakov falls silent.

"Is that all you've got, old man?"

"Those are the only friends you have that I'm aware of."

"Hey!"

Yakov sips his water again, "Is it Altin?" He watches Yuri's expression very carefully and sighs when Yuri stiffens, "Bingo."

"So what if it's Otabek?" He grumbles, defensive. He swallows the flute of sad champagne too quickly.

"There are only two people in the world who got through your armor, Yurochka, Altin and Katya. If it's not one, it's the other."

He feels prickly all of the sudden, like he needs to protect both of them from being bad-mouthed even though Yakov has a point, "So?"

Yakov looks skyward, as if praying for strength, "I am here to listen if you need to vent, Yurochka, I'm not forcing you to tell me anything."

Yuri stares at the carpet before plucking another flute of champagne from a passing waiter. Yakov groans as he downs the entire thing in one gulp, probably reliving suppressed memories of Yuuri and Victor making fools of themselves during previous banquets. Yuri doesn't blame him, he has memories he wants to clean with brain-bleach as well.

"You still like her, don't you?"

The lights overhead dim as waiters start to clear a couple of tables to make space for the dance floor. They brought out the annoying strobe light and Yuri watches as reds, pinks, and greens float over Yakov's lined face.

"Lilia always has a special place with me," Yakov quietly says, somber compared to the upbeat pop blasting overhead, "I think we've come to an understanding now."

"Isn't it hard to always live in that limbo both of you created yourself? Never moving forward? Always staying in the middle?"

He thinks of the calm apartment, Otabek going over to the living room windows where it's has the most amount of natural sunlight with his music stand, working out songs, reading glasses resting on the window ledge, the way he's grown accustomed to see Otabek walk around in dress shirts instead of practice jerseys and sweats, the way that he has lunches with people not in the skating world.

It feels empty to see Otabek moving on, taking a path that has led him away from the world Yuri himself tread. Just the other day, Otabek had worn his faded Team Kazakhstan hoodie. He gave Yuri a small smile and shrug, saying,  _I can wear it without guilt now._  

"It works for us," Yakov simply says, "You don't need to listen to other people just because if worked for them."

A waiter passes them and Yuri places his empty flutes to be taken away, watching one of the ice dancers lead Ivan to the dance floor. Yegor brightens and gives Ivan a noogie once they've gotten close enough.

"He's welcome to skate after-hours if he wants," Yakov shrugs, "Just make sure you lock up."

Yuri gets the feeling that he's absolutely transparent despite his efforts to be normal. He frowns at the floor again, the alcohol making him feel warm.

"That came out of nowhere."

"I'm a generous man."

A bubble of weak laughter comes out and Yakov looks satisfied, snatching a glass of something dark from another waiter making rounds. Yuri grabs a bite-sized piece of pie and pops it into his mouth, hoping that the filling will do something about his dry throat.

"Time has a funny way of making everything alright in the end, Yura, you don't need to torment yourself over everything," Yakov tells him. "If you are happy, I know that Mila and the others will be too."

"I guess so. Thanks, old man."

Yakov makes his way towards the exit, having finished his mission of the night. Yuri watches him slip out of the room before being tugged by Victor to the dance floor, Chris beaming at him.

He suppresses a sigh and lets himself be pulled.

Once he shakes Victor off and lets his old coach be an embarrassment on the dance floor, he keeps Chris company, first talking of sponsorship stuff, then whether Ivan wants to visit Switzerland with some of his friends for summer camp before the inevitable comes and Chris gets that all knowing glint in his eyes.

Yuri cuts him off before he could say anything, "Yes, Otabek is my tenant and yes we're okay and yes we've worked everything out."

Chris sips some wine, "That was very astute of you."

"Thanks. Do you think you have another room for Ivan's friend? He's Seung-gil's student, Dae-hyun...."

 

He sticks his feet up on the boards as he sits on the benches, watching Georgi zoom along at the speed of a slug on the zamboni. He's locking up tonight and he can't leave until Georgi finishes whatever ritual he has as he smooths the ice. Yuri's pretty sure that he caught Georgi kissing the ice one time.

"Hurry up!" Yuri yells.

Georgi grouches right back, "You said you like it best when I do it! So be patient!"

Yuri swings his feet off the boards and impatiently jiggles his foot, up and down, up and down. With Four Continents and European Championships over, they're on the last leg of the season, preparing for Worlds, except that it doesn't explain the nervous energy he has today. Otabek had gotten his hand on balcony seats for the world premier of his Valentines Special piece and he had invited Yuri along.

He nearly trips when Georgi backs the zamboni into the corner. The excitement falls when he sees Georgi go on his knees to inspect a patch of ice, grabbing a bucket full of ice shavings with him.

"Really?!"

"Let the master work in peace!" Georgi howls, shrugging off his winter coat and placing it on the ground to protect his old man knees as he bends down and fixes a patch of ice. Yuri wants to flail around on the ground and roll around, his age be damned.

"Is it Katya's birthday today? You're so antsy!"

Yuri lifts his head and growls, "Her's passed already!"

"Oh? Happy belated to her."

"I'll pass along the message if you hurry up," Yuri sourly says, sniffing as Georgi walks around and scrutinizes his masterpiece before shaking his head and going back down, " _Georgi!_ "

"Who was the one who complained of an uneven patch of ice?!"

"I regret telling you that," He moans.

Georgi whistles merrily, "You still haven't told me what's up. Hot date?"

He slumps back down on his bench, lying horizontally on the surface. Yuri raises his voice so it carries towards where Georgi is, "Nah, I'm going to the orchestra. Beka's debuting his work."

There's a long pause. Yuri is about to stick his head up to see if something had happen when Georgi replies, "Oh."

And of course it would look that way to other people, "It's...not like that," He mumbles defensively.

"I don't know," Georgi's voice is dripping with sarcasm, the sound of grinding filling the air, "You get divorced with your wife, your ex-boyfriend comes leaping back into your life and is living with you. I'm not surprised all in all, does Katya know?"

"Yeah," He mulls over her teary goodbye again, "Listen, I went over to her house for a birthday lunch and she was crying. Do you know anything about that? You still go to her for physio right?"

The grinding noise halts. Yuri sticks his head up, finding that Georgi is staring at him with the most ridiculous expression. 

"Are you serious?"

" _What?_ "

"You're blind if you can't see it!" Yuri watches him throw down a small shovel, ice shavings spraying everywhere. "Can't you see that she was crying because she thought that she couldn't measure up?"

"Measure up?" He echoes, wondering if Georgi had misunderstood the question, "What do you mean measure up? I never—"

"Yuri—" Georgi rubs his face roughly with a gloved hand, "—Katya. Katya Ivanova. She resembles Otabek the most."

 

Otabek is in his best suit again, a tie replacing the bowtie as he and Yuri take a cab to the theater where they're dropped in the back door and granted entry, the maestro of the Moscow Orchestra shaking their hands and leading them around to their seats in the balcony. Yuri waves Otabek off when several musicians come up to them, inviting him to shake hands with the concertmaster with the promise that they'll return Otabek to his plus-one before the concert starts.

_She resembles Otabek the most._

He leaves his seat and peers out into the stooped staircase, bumping into shoulders and becoming another blond man with a suit as he enters the lobby to find an empty hallway, pressing number 3 on his speed-dial. 

" _Yuri?_ "

"Are," He pauses, lowering his voice as people pass by him shrouded in darkness, "Are you free right now?"

The volume of the television is lowered, Katya sounding concerned, " _Of course, is something the matter?_ "

"I was talking with Georgi earlier and...because he still goes to you for his back problems I thought that he would know why you were crying on your birthday. I couldn't figure out why you were sad."

"... _Go on_."

"He got angry with me and told me that you were crying because you couldn't measure up to Otabek. And that Otabek resembled you the most."

The line in his ear became even quieter if possible, the sound of glasses clinking and voices seemingly far, far away as he leans backwards in a random hallway, tie strangling his throat like a noose. She wasn't responding, and it wasn't until that the chime of the sound system reminding him that the concert was about to start in ten minutes that he realizes her silence is an answer.

" _Katya, I never thought of you that way._ "

" _No, you were good to me_.  _You never compared me to him, don't think that our marriage failed because of Otabek_."

"Then—"

" _When you get drunk_ ," She starts fondly, Yuri could imagine her curling her legs up, a throw over her form as she watches a movie, the television light bathing her with colours, " _You have a habit of taking out your phone and calling random people, or that's what I had thought at first. You wouldn't remember it the morning, carrying on as usual. Out of curiosity, I wondered why no one ever picked up, but then I realized that you kept calling a number that wasn't in use anymore._ "

Someone peers into the hallway he's in and shouts to him that the performance is starting soon.

" _One day when you were abroad with Victor, I called the number that I'd written down. A man's voicemail answered me, it went,_  'Hello, you've reached _—'"_

He finishes her sentence,  _"'—_ Otabek Altin. _'"_

Katya doesn't sound angry. She doesn't sound resigned or tired or hateful or anything. She has the same tone of voice when she gives her patients a diagnosis of their injury, perfunctory and professional. Yuri couldn't read her.

"... _Otabek Altin is always going to be your ghost, isn't he?_ "

"Katya—"

" _You sometimes cry in your sleep whenever Worlds would come around, even after you've retired,"_ She continues, _"I asked Mila if anything significant happened then and she told me that Olympic season occurred before Worlds and that you'd completely changed your program one year to try and find him. You were crying for him in your sleep, Yurochka._ "

He wondered how often he did that, how often he went to sleep with her in their bed, completely oblivious as she wakes up early to go to the clinic, finding dry tear tracks on his cheeks. Just  _how long_  had she suffered quietly?

She laughs softly: " _I knew then I couldn't compete against him_."

"Katenka."

He thought being an adult meant that he would know the right things to do, the right things to say, not to stumble through the rest of his adult life breaking things and wondering if he chose the right choices.

" _I know you meant no harm_."

The carpet below him turns into a blur as his eyes begin to sting, "I'm sorry," He whispers, hearing the orchestra start to tune to the oboe.

" _I'm sorry too_ ,  _I thought that if he ever did come back into your life, that you would find it in yourself to forgive him_."

He doesn't lie to her, it wasn't in the nature of their relationship to keep secrets from each other, "Katya, I'm.... I like him again."

There's a shorter pause this time, as if she'd knew what he was going to say. Perhaps she did, maybe she knew even before he realized.

" _I want you to be happy, Yura._ "

He stays in the dark hallway for several seconds, blinking the guilt out of his eyes as his head swirls with new information, going up the stairs to the balcony seats, feet laden with lead weights. Otabek shoots him a worried glance but couldn't ask him what was wrong due to the orchestra playing. This, Yuri was thankful for.

The World Championships this year is going to be held in Milan, a hop southwest as Yuri pushes all thoughts of anything but the competition out of his mind. Ivan doesn't question the glazed look he sometimes has in his eyes as he skates compulsories in the early dawn, entering the rink before any other soul steps in.

Otabek has slowly started to retreat into his shell again, and this time Yuri doesn't know if he should pull him back out or let him be, Katya's words clouding over him, unlike the weather that's clearing up around Moscow. The sun is starting to peek out again, the temperature warming.

On a sunny morning where he takes Ivan and Yegor out at a local park, ordering them to run twice around the perimeter as he sits on a bench under a tree, he uses this time to let his brain drift, trying to peer at the blue skies through the leaves.

He feels like he's a teenager again, angry and confused. 

Fifteen: angry at Victor for tossing his career away.

Twenty: angry at himself for injuring his ankle in Beijing. 

Twenty-five: angry at Otabek for leaving him, confused in Santorini as he danced drunkenly with Mila who smelled nothing like Otabek. 

Thirty: angry at himself for his traitorous heart and confused at Katya's wish for him to be happy.

Shouldn't she be angry? Hurt that he likes Otabek again? 

He tries to compare Kayta and Otabek through Georgi's lenses, finding that the only trait they share is their dark brown hair and love for cooking. 

No, they're both kind to the core, slightly playful and witty when it surfaces. Fuck, maybe Georgi was right. They're similar.

But it didn't mean that Yuri didn't love her, that their marriage was a mistake and the years they spent together was just another way for Yuri to get over Otabek like she was his replacement. Because she wasn't anything like that. She was Katya.

She was Katya and he loved her.

Slow footsteps crunch over to him, and he chokes out, "No walking, Vanya," Before Ivan's hand is rubbing a comforting hand on his shoulder as Yegor states that he's going to buy all of them some lemonade from a nearby vendor.

"You must think I'm pathetic, I can't even keep my private life separate from my work."

Ivan continues to rub his back soothingly, and he quietly reassures him, "You're going through a hard time."

Yegor's black runners comes into view next to Ivan's white ones, and Yuri hears Yegor saying something about trying to find a public bathroom, setting off in a brisk walk out of the park and leaving Ivan alone with him.

Ivan settles next to him on the bench, the ice in their drinks clinking as Yuri lifts his head slightly to see that someone had tugged his hood over his head. He tries to recall the last time he nearly cried, only finding memories of his drunk self sobbing in bathrooms. He didn't even cry when Katya had pulled out the divorce papers.

God he's a mess.

Yuri mumbles a thanks when Ivan wordlessly hands him his lemonade. It's tart and made with the right amount of sweetness to be refreshing. 

"Is it Mr. Altin?"

"No," Yuri sighs, "It's my ex-wife. You've met her several times."

"Ms. Katya."

"I guess it's about Otabek too," He lifts the lemonade cup to his eye-level and swirls it, watching the small mint leaves spin, bumping into ice cubes as several drops of condensation roll into a water droplet.

"I'm not Coach Mila," Ivan awkwardly starts, "But I could lend you an ear."

Yuri chuckles hoarsely, "Thank you, but I'm good."

"Stand up, Coach."

His student pulls him into a tight squeeze, some joggers giving them a passing glance before going on their way, ponytails swishing.

"Coach Mila told me that sometimes all you can do is give others a big hug," Ivan says to his ear, "I hope everything goes well for you, you deserve happiness."

Then Yegor reappears and takes Ivan to a stretch of grass, unrolling mats as they guide themselves through stretches and core muscle exercises. Yuri watches them do each rep without complaint, so used to yelling at them to push through the pain that he doesn't have anything to say other than keep a watch on the time.

He hustles them both back to the rink and criticizes Ivan's free leg in his free program, Yakov pulling the senior skaters aside and reminding them that they'll do a good job in Milan next week. Yuri then drives home and sees Otabek hovering at the kitchen island with a vase, arranging blue forget me nots.

"I saw them at the market on my way home and thought they look nice," Otabek explains. Yuri closes the apartment door and makes his way to the kitchen, dropping his duffel bag on the ground and leaning against the counter.

"Your mom gardens doesn't she?"

"Mhm," Yuri hears Otabek hum as he pokes around Otabek's open bag, pulling out pages of sheet music and loose papers, flipping a pencil between his fingers. Finally satisfied, Otabek takes a step back from the vase and brings it over to the breakfast bar, propping it in the middle where the flowers beam and throw a dash of colour in the apartment. "That reminds me."

He turns his head as Otabek digs out something from his pants pocket, pulling a piece of slightly crumpled paper, folded twice into quarters.

Yuri reads it, "You're going to Worlds!"

"As a guest," Otabek dances over to the cupboards and pulls out some bottle he'd gotten from Taiwan from one of his midnight rendezvous with his international composer friends, "Kaoliang." 

They clink shot glasses and the colourless liquid burns a hole through Yuri's throat, where he splutters once majority of it is down. Otabek had the same reaction, though he bent his head into the crook of his elbow, coughing.

"Who else do you make music for?"

"Julian's exhibition program," Otabek looks at Yuri for a nod that meant that he recognizes the name of Chris's student, "Dae-hyun's exhibition program, JJ's student, Marie's short program, and several juniors from my home rink."

Yuri grabs Otabek's shot glass and fills it with water, catching the amused glint in Otabek's warm eyes, "Cheers to you. Do you want to grab Mila? She likes my pasta so I'll make dinner tonight. Celebrate a little." 

"You sure?"

Yuri nods, rolling his shoulders as he bends down to unearth the pot from the bottom cabinets, hearing the steps of Otabek going to his bedroom for his phone. How domestic they must look to others, making dinner together and inviting a neighbour or two along.

Otabek hooks his phone to his large sound system,  _Le Festin_  from Ratatouille playing as they dine in the presence of forget me nots, the balcony door thrown open so a nice breeze could sweep in. Mila has her head bent down over Otabek's phone as they peruse through jazz hop artists, laughing.

Yuri slides his thumb over and discreetly takes a picture of them, Otabek looking at peace.

It'll stay in his albums in the reminder of good days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some upcoming works:  
> 1) the ending of this story  
> 2) a sequel to oxytocin at first sight because **???** so many people love it??? im shocked  
>  3) a sequel to the sequel mentioned above, of trauma surgeons seung-gil and jj  
> 4) the third part of aria, otabek-centered  
> 5) maybe an jjbella get together fic with reluctant wingman otabek when they're in high school. if i have enough time that is.


	8. Chapter 8

Katya treats him to a belated birthday dinner at one of Yuri's favorite hole-in-the-wall, her demeanor sunny and cheery like the phone call hadn't happen between them before Yuri goes off to Milan with the rest of the coaches and skaters.

Afterwards, they get some ice cream, a waffle cone for her and a sugar cone for him, before retiring at a nearby park. The sun is setting through the thicket of trees as several young children run around with their parents watching from afar. It's the good type of spring day— sunny with the air crisp. 

Yuri licks his matcha chocolate scoop, watching Katya from the corner of his eyes as she fidgets.

"I won't be offended," He says, watching her head whip around, "You looked like you wanted to say something."

Katya had cut her hair, the longest ends brushing her chin as she fumbles, "What's this? I thought you weren't good at reading me."

He laughs and pulls the brim of his cap lower, "We were married once."

She smiles, "That's true," Katya kicks her legs out, tapping the toes of her ballet flats together as a thoughtful look comes over her, "It's about what we talked last on the phone. Otabek and your happiness."

Yuri starts nibbling on the edges of his cone, "I thought it might've been that."

"You would agree that we know each other pretty well?"

"...Yes?"

"I've been talking to Mila recently, and along with Georgi about Otabek," Katya says, licking her lavender scoop, "From what they've told me, he isn't the type to make a move without a good reason. He prefers to wait it out a little and gauge what the other party will do before knowing for sure that he'll win. Then, he'll make a move."

_Yuri, get on._

_Are you going to be friends with me or not?_

_Promise me we'll talk._

"And knowing you, you've completely missed the cues, Yurochka."

This catches his attention, the exasperated tone of Katya's voice as she calmly licks her ice cream, Yuri trying to swallow a chunk of cone without coughing it up on her pretty skirt, " _What?_ "

Katya pats his knee in a comforting motion, "You're quite slow sometimes."

"Where did this come from?!"

"I could see you hesitating because of what I've said," She looks at him from under her lashes, "You feel a little guilty, don't you?"

He sighs slowly through his nose, looking away from her blue eyes, "I can't help it."

"And that," She nods at him, "Is the reason why you couldn't see the way Otabek is flirting with you."

Then the sugar cone really gets stuck in his throat, Katya swishing her skirt out of the way as several pieces of cone spew past his hands and mouth. She shoves several paper napkins into his hands and waits calmly as he tries to regain his breathing, his thoughts, and mouth in working order to splutter at her.

" _Flirting?_ "

"Otabek's style of flirting, or should I say courting? You didn't notice the flowers?"

"The blue ones?" He ogles at her, "When did you see that?"

"I told you, I've been talking to Mila. She saw them when you invited her over for dinner the other day. Do you know what forget me nots represent?"

He shakes his head.

"True, undying love, loyalty in face of separation and challenges, growing affection, reminder of a favorite memory, I could go on," Katya says, smiling warily. "Didn't Yuuri give you a lesson on hanakotoba when we were picking my bouquet? You must have tuned him out."

"I..." Yuri trails off, shaking his head, "I thought...that he was making subtle moves," The way Otabek always seem to make his favorites even though it's not Yuri's turn to cook tonight, the title of his piece,  _Beloved_ , written in Kazakh, the flowers, the tickets to the orchestra.... "I thought about what I was going to do." 

"Before Georgi fed you that little tid-bit of information."

"Before Georgi told me," He repeats, sighing. He manages to eat the rest of his cone without any further choking and watches as the parents start to herd their children back to their houses. One couple is swinging their girl between them, their laughs booming in the quiet park.

"Why did you think of staying in the middle, never moving forward? I thought you would have wanted to get back together with him."

_He's your ghost_ , goes unsaid between them.

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

Taken back, Katya manages several blinks, her expression fighting between two expressions before she settles it by letting tears swim in her eyes.

"Katenka..." He offers her tissue.

"They're h-happy tears!" Some black comes away on the pads of her fingers and she snatches the tissues.

Yuri rolls a pebble between his feet as Katya composes herself, smiling slightly to himself. She grumbles something that sounds like, _laughing when someone's crying,_  in broken French, and he knocks his knee into her's in childish retaliation.

"I want you to be happy."

"I  _am_ happy," Katya says, smiling down at the tissues, "Despite the tears and crying, I'm happy where I am right now. I have a job I love, a home close to where I work, and a relationship with my ex-husband that's not at all bitter," She wiggles close to him and rests her arm against his. Her tone softens, "So you don't need to think about me anymore, Yura, you can be happy."

He sits very still, feeling her shoulders move up and down as she breathes, "You don't make it any easier you know, even if you tell me that I don't need to think about you. You're still important."

She ducks her head down, "Thank you for that, truly, but you know, Yura," She leans forward until they're only inches apart, the grey flecks in her eyes close enough for him to see, "You'll get left behind if you keep staying in the middle. Sometimes marriage doesn't work out, and you move onto better things."

"Don't say that—"

"I'm not saying that Otabek Altin is better than me, but in your case, he will ultimately be better than what I can give you," She wistfully smiles at her skirt. "And I accept that, sometimes you can't forget people no matter how long time passes."

"I feel like I've failed you," He quietly admits, "I thought what I did was right, asking you to marry me and everything that followed."

"And that's okay, Yuri."

He looks at her face in disbelief.

Katya squarely looks back at him, not smiling, but not frowning either, "We made a good team, except marriage wasn't one of the possible scenarios we should have pursued. We got out of it."

"And then what?"

"And then..." She trails off, "We separate and after our wounds have healed, one of us, the one with more courage, can try meeting the other one. We could be friends or strangers. What do you want, Yuri?"

"Friends. What do you want, Katya?"

"Friends, and for you to pursue happiness," She takes his right hand in her left, feeling the weight of it before curling his fingers into a loose fist, "I won't act like I know your relationship with Otabek, but...wasn't there a ring?"

The ring he'd carried to Madina's wedding, burning a hole through his trousers throughout the reception and eventually forgotten from too much alcohol.

Then all together shoved into the back of a drawer as he watched Sara's, Mila's and Otabek's announcement of retirement and proceeded to have the worst fight between him and Otabek.

"It's probably rusted."

"And that's okay. You can polish it, you can have it resized, you can buy a new one even, to mark a new start whenever you feel ready. What do you say, soldier?" The nickname slips out of her mouth, and he smiles a little at the sound, "You've torn nearly all the ligaments in both knees and ankles. I think you have enough courage in you to face him."

He laughs, standing up and offering a hand to her. She shakes her head and jumps to her feet herself, both of them walking side by side as Yuri leads them to his car, "Always my personal cheerleader."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, it isn't," He holds up a fist.

She taps his knuckles with her own, her red lips pulled into a beautiful smile.

  

They troop out of Aeroflot, stretching their limbs out as they stand in line to get their passport checked, meeting Sara and Mickey in the passenger pick up zone.

Mila immediately gives Sara the biggest hug, lifting her off her feet as they shriek and giggle. Yuri shakes Michele's hand cordially before something in red races from behind Sara and tackles Otabek to the floor.

"Bro!" JJ cries.

Ivan and Yegor traipse off with Julian and Marie, who had landed several minutes before their flight, to get some food and caffeine. Yuri sits calmly by Chris, surrounded by luggages, as Isabella squeezes every last cell in Otabek's body. 

"Anyone else we're waiting on?"

"Leo in half an hour," Chris says, waving to some fans passing by. "Seung-gil and the rest of them are coming tomorrow."

"Not saying hi to Otabek?"

Chris shoots him a sly, knowing grin, "I saw him recently in Geneva. Are things cozying up?"

"Yuri..." They hear Otabek gurgle, sandwiched between Isabella and JJ, his leather covered arms flailing for some form of assistance as Yuri spots one of the fans drop their jaw at the famed Hero of Kazakhstan. "Help." 

"I'm turning my phone notifications off," Yuri quickly says, swiping his thumb past the lock-screen as a notification from Phichit requesting Face-Time pops up following several messages of exclamations marks and keyboard smashing.  _How does Phichit already know?_

Chris dangles a set of keys in front of him, "Take this."

Yuri accepts it, "What's this?"

"Keys to a motorcycle in the second car parkade, floor B2, stall 34. If you take that elevator that's about to close over there—" Chris angles with his head to the dark alcove where a stooped grandmother is standing with her carry-on, watching the doors slide open, "—I say you have a good chance of rescuing him."

More fans are gathering and pointing towards Otabek's direction. Phones are out, and Yuri can already see the media vultures descending on them.

Yuri flounders as Chris shoots him a blinding grin, adding, "I'll also take care of Ivan for you, but he's well aware of Plan B."

Pulling on his sunglasses and tucking his bun under his hood, Yuri growls, "You're going to tell me  _exactly_ what you and your ice-dancer husband brewed up with the rest of my team when we get to the hotel."

"Make sure to take the back entrance."

There was a time where he thought he was past the age of pulling airport stunts, but habits die hard.

Chris slinks over to Isabella and manages to pry off an arm off Otabek by asking her if she wants to take a walk and look at some shops while they wait for Leo to land. With that opening, Yuri jabs JJ firmly in the ribs and feels his grip on Otabek slacken, pulling Otabek free as the fans suddenly realize that they're about to witness a reverse rescuing of Barcelona fifteen years ago in action.

" _Princess!_ " JJ gasps, clutching his ribs as Yuri and Otabek start sprinting for the elevator. Yuri leaves everything— his carry-on, his jacket, his hat— with Mila and Victor as the latter catches them.

Victor's making his stupid heart smile, pointing his camera at them as several dozen fans squeal and follow his lead. To make things even peachier, Mila has the gall to smirk at him before the elevator doors closes.

"Which floor, dear?" The grandmother asks two former champions of mens singles in figure skating breathing heavily like the hundred meter sprint had been an iron man challenge instead. Yuri straightens his spine and says B2 as Otabek tries to hide his breathing and fails.

The grandmother shuffles out at B1, and while the elevator continues to descent, Otabek makes the mistake of pulling out his phone, shoving it back in his pocket.

Unable to resist, Yuri grins, "What do the headlines say?"

"'Hero of Kazakhstan is rescued by his Fairy Prince,'" Otabek raises a brow, "So the name stuck."

"I could leave you for the female masses to find," Yuri says in his nicest voice, watching Otabek sulk as they speed walk to stall 34. The air down here smells like exhaust, not very offensive, but enough to make Yuri wrinkle his nose. 

The bike is black and looks fast motionless. It even has two helmets. 

Chris better be messaging him exactly what Plan A and B consists of.

Otabek doesn't get onto the bike right away, shedding his leather jacket and bundling it into a mass. He's wearing a particularly colourful sweater underneath.

"To distract them."

"Did you plan this with Chris?" Yuri asks suspiciously as he starts the engine. Otabek places his leather jacket between Yuri and himself, mounting.

"I'm not the only one trying to fool them," Otabek points out to their position of Yuri being the rider. Yuri responds by accelerating out of the car parkade, hearing Otabek curse in English at the sudden jolt as they zoom out into the sun.

They pass the passenger pick up, watching a glob of people surround Chris and the rest of the coaches and their skaters before Yuri slaps down his reflective visor and enters the freeway, heading away from Malpensa Airport to Milan. Riding a motorcycle meant that they would need to scream over the wind and engine to talk, so the ride was quiet— this, Yuri was thankful for.

Upon arriving at their hotel, he realizes two things.

The first is that Otabek actually had important composer things to do and in the rush of Yuri rescuing him, they completely forgot about his bag.

The second is that their rooms aren't ready yet for another half hour so they're currently sitting in a cafe across the hotel with a prime view of where the shuttle bus would pull up, two cups of coffee between them. Yuri takes a sip of his latte after taking a picture of the foam heart, looking out his window and feeling a sense of déjà vu.

He needs to put Ivan first. Ivan, then Otabek.

"Leo's just landed," Otabek says, scrolling through his twitter feed. Yuri sees Leo's post a second after Otabek updates him,  _Wow there's a lot of you here at the airport today! #Milan #Worlds2032,_ "They'll be here soon." 

"Um," A voice says in accented English, "Are you Altin and Plisetsky?"

A little girl, perhaps seven or eight with her older sister, is staring wide eyed at them.

"Hello," Otabek says with a small smile.

The two sisters chatter excitedly to each other in rapid Italian before shuffling through their bags for some form of paper. The youngest pulls out a phone instead and smiles hopefully at the both of them. Yuri relents, standing up and crouching next to Otabek sitting in his seat as the girls follow his lead and grin widely at the camera.

" _Sorridi!_ " They chime. Yuri flashes a peace sign for several seconds before the cafe owner passes the girls a scrap of paper. Yuri watches as Otabek has a lapse in concentration and has to think hard about his signature.

"Coaching?" The little girl asks.

Yuri nods and points to the hotel, speaking in his best English, "Ivan's going to come soon."

This is thrilling news to the little girl, who claps her hands together and hops on the spot.

Otabek is managing to talk to the older sister in broken French, using his hands a lot of gesture to things. She shyly shows him her phone screen and Yuri catches the front cover of Otabek's solo piano album before it's whisked out of sight and Otabek grins widely, slightly bashful.

His phone buzzes and he shoots an apologetic look to the little girl, spotting Ivan climb out of the shuttle bus with his phone up to his ear.

" _Coach! Where are you?_ "

"Your nine o'clock," Yuri responds in rapid Russian, "See that cafe with the bright blue awning? I'm in there with a fan of yours. Want to come and say hi?"

" _Hell yeah! Let me drop my bag first._ "

When Ivan's fan surround him and Yegor, Yuri sees Mila walk into the cafe with his hat. Otabek takes this cue to complete his composer business, saying goodbye to the sisters and running towards the hotel.

Over the brim of her tea cup, Mila smiles widely at him.

"What do you want?" He manages through gritted teeth.

"Check twitter yet?"

"It looks bad."

"Oh no," Mila shakes her head, eyes glittering, "It's  _absolutely_ great. Everyone's howling at the sight of the Hero of Kazakhstan returning! With you nonetheless," She laughs under her breath, "Yakov's already called me twice to keep you in line. He said no more motorcycle tricks."

"Thanks," He replies dryly, watching a waiter refill his coffee cup and replenish a small wicker bowl with more creams and sugar packets. "Do you want to fill me in on what Plan B is? Have JJ be his obnoxious loud self at the airport to draw people's attention to Otabek? You know how he hates crowds."

"You'd be wrong to think that Otabek could visit and not make a scene, not to mention that you two were a couple back in the day," Mila pats his head, "Chris, Victor, JJ and I thought it would be best that Otabek have a separate getaway vehicle in case things got out of hand."

"...That's it?"

Mila places her cup down, "That's it."

 

Over the next few days, between making sure Ivan stays in his happy space and not turn into a gangly ball of anxiety and nervousness, making a few soundbites to various sport channels, blinking the flash from his retinas and completely ignoring all questions that would even sniff its way to Otabek's presence, he sees little of Otabek himself.

"You're going to do fine," He says as Julian skips off the ice to thunderous applause, the audience waving red, yellow and black in a frenzy. Ivan is shaking and Yuri needs him to focus fast, "You made a personal best with this free program. You can do this."

"I can't do this!"

" _No!_ The phrase is, 'I can do this!'" Yuri rips Ivan's Team Russia jacket off his shoulders and covers his eyes so he wouldn't see Julian's score, sending death glares to nearby cameraman, daring them to point the lenses in his direction.

"Coach!!"

Yuri kicks him towards the gate, "Make me proud, Vanya!"

_"On the ice, representing Russia, Ivan Griazev!"_

Ivan skates out and timidly raises both hands in a wave, red, white and blue greeting him as the stadium cheers. Yuri crosses his arms together and watches Ivan shake off his nerves like he always does as the stadium lessens its flag waving.

Yuri didn't need to worry at all; by the end of the program, Ivan's beaming as he comes out of his finishing pose, breathing hard but happy, bowing to the audience.

The little girls and boys scurry onto the ice to scoop up flowers and stuffed animals as Yuri hands Ivan his guards, the camera crew eagerly following them to the kiss and cry.

"Feeling good?"

"Excellent," Ivan pants, gulping some water. He waves at the cameras and throws an arm around Yuri, yelling, "Thank you for your support everyone!"

Yuri translates it to Japanese for kicks, waving before he looks up at the screen, waiting. 

" _His total score is three hundred and fifteen point sixty-two, he is currently in first place_." 

Yuri grins, watching Ivan bounce to his feet, stadium erupting in hoarse yells and claps. They clear out of the kiss and cry and are shuffled backstage where Ivan latches himself to the closest screen and watches Yegor, the last competitor, take the ice. He stays by Ivan's shoulder as a cameraman hovers close by them.

Yegor blows his nose when he hobbles into the kiss and cry, anxious for his scores as Ivan starts to chew his nails clean. Yuri puts a hand on his shoulder in anticipation, eyes and ears straining.

" _The free skate score please, for Yegor Ostrovsky._ "

Ivan holds his breath.

_"He has earned two hundred and nineteen point twenty. His total score is three hundred and seventeen point eighty-seven, which brings him to first place!_ "

Yuri leans in close as the announcer continue to go on and on about the breakdown of Yegor's points, "Good motivation for Olympic season next year?"

"Oh yeah," Ivan nods as he throws the camera a smile and wave. He can't hide the disappointment, but Yuri knows he'll jump back from today's loss in due time. 

"That's my boy."

 

After the exhibition skate, the season wraps up at the banquet hall.

Yuri turns on his notifications so it will alert him if Ivan's trending on twitter for doing something stupid, but he knows that Yegor, and Dae-hyun are level-headed enough to keep his student from going astray.

He slips out of the party and into the elevator, tugging his tie loose and unbuttoning his suit as he checks his phone, wondering when he missed a call.

"You have two messages," His voicemail states in a robotic tone, Yuri stabbing the lobby button as he leans on the railing, Katya's voice greeting him.

" _Congratulations to Ivan for his silver medal! I watched it live here, and it was amazing! Have a safe flight back home!_ "

Then: 

" _Ah_ ," Otabek's voice says, and Yuri nearly drops his phone, looking at it like his iPhone has sprouted a head. He quickly shoves it back to his ear, " _Uh, I was going to sleep, but I received a call from...your ex-wife? She told me to leave you a voicemail, but I figure you would be still at the banquet.... Call me if you want to escape?_ "

Head spinning not from the champagne he'd sipped in Ivan's victory, he calls Otabek and hovers in the lobby, sitting on a nearby couch and staring at the large crystal fixture hanging from the ceiling until the elevators near him dings open and Otabek strolls out looking like he rolled out of bed.

His hair is mussed, the top two button on his button-up exposing his stubbly throat, "Yuri."

Yuri blanks out, "Do you want to get drinks?"

The hotel staff has apparently emptied all of its champagne loot to feed the banquet, so he and Otabek take a bottle of apple juice to the rooftop where a nice breeze whips their hair, Milan sparkling under them.

He shrugs out of his suit jacket and pockets his cuff links, rolling his sleeves up. Otabek follows suit and drags two pool chairs next to each other, it's not too cold as of yet but there's a definite chill that will settle in the longer they stay here. The pool has light strips that changes colour every now and then. Currently, it's throwing pink light at them.

"Katya called you?"

"I  _think_ it was her. She asked if this was Otabek Altin's new phone number," Otabek takes a sip of his apple juice, "What's that about?"

"You sure it's her?"

"I never heard what your ex-wife's voice sounds like, but she definitely wasn't calling about commissioning me for a piece."

Yuri twists the cap off and finds that the apple juice is actually carbonated, feeling the bubbles travel down his throat, "She's my personal cheerleader, but I didn't think she would meddle."

This is definitely Katya's mischievous side peeking its head out. Instead of gently pushing him, she'd thrown him into a pit with no warning and certainly no help.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Otabek frowns, squinting into the pool like Katya's motives is a puzzle piece he could solve. Yuri feels the same way as well, women are still a mystery. "I'm not keeping you from the celebrations, am I?"

"Nah, I was about to escape, you caught me at a good time," More like Katya knew his habits and is using them for her own amusement. "You did a special interview with CBC Sports right?"

"Yeah, they're a Canadian news channel. JJ actually dragged Leo into it and talked extensively of our Juniors days. The reporter's eye was twitching."

"What a narcissist."

"But," Otabek smiles against the opening of the bottle, face bathed in yellow and orange from the pool, "They didn't have time to ask me personal questions."

"Narcissistic  _and_ loyal." 

Otabek rolls up the hems of his pants and sticks his feet into the pool, slowly moving his legs as the water swirls bubbly at them. He looks deep in thought.

"I still don't know why your Katya called me."

"She's throwing me into the lion's den. Or bear I should say."

"I have no clue what you're talking about."

"She called you because she thinks my way of doing things are slow. She's trying to speed it up for my sake. And yours I guess." 

Otabek pulls his legs out of the water and turns, eyes searching, "Speed what up?"

"That I like you."

Otabek pauses, considers.

"Your ex-wife knows that you like me?"

There are no emotions in his even voice that Yuri can pick out to gauge his reaction. It was impressive, Yuri admits inwardly, how composed Otabek is. There's no frown, no crinkle of his eye, no deep lines near his mouth to suggest anything.

"Yes."

Otabek's brain is churning with this new information; he takes a long sip of his drink before rubbing his face up and down with a hand, quiet, "I thought you weren't being receptive to my advances."

"Things...happened."

He recounts his tale: his and Katya's quiet divorce; his obliviousness to the entire matter that she was hurting because their marriage was crumbling and he couldn't see it; the talk he had with Georgi; the call he made with Katya during the night of Otabek's orchestral premier; Katya's confession when they were out getting dinner. 

Someone below on the streets hollers, their shout echoing up. Then several people laugh and the noise fades, the group either walking away from the bottom of the hotel or lowering their voices. They sound happy at least. Yuri knows that below them on the second floor where the ballrooms are, Ivan is surrounded by his friends, happy and hopefully content without his silver haunting him.

"...And then...marriage doesn't always end in an ' _and then they lived happily ever after_ '. It can crumble, not work out, and separations happen," Yuri watches the pool water brush against the tiles on the far shore, slapping repeatedly like a constant battering between rock and water, "But she wants me to be happy, that's why she called you."

Quiet.

Then there's a pad of feet slapping on concrete and Yuri has Otabek in his arms, his cold nose lying against Yuri's warm neck.

Bergamot and cedar. Under that, Otabek smells the same, speaking against Yuri's neck as the vibrations spread outwards from his chest.

It's an apology in Kazakh. Muttered again and again painfully as Yuri slowly picks apart the vowels and constants into something he remembers hearing Madina yelping over Skype when she'd trodden accidentally on her cat's tail. _I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

The pool is throwing white light behind Otabek, who looks pale in the lighting, ghost-like.

Yuri closes his eyes and presses their lips together, bending down and letting his fingers scale up warm skin and the buzzed part of a scalp. And then he's burning from the inside, his heart trying to break through his ribs in flight as the initial spark of fire fades into a familiar, warm flush.

It feels like coming home.

This man, the eighteen year old Yuri met in the back streets of Barcelona, the twenty-six year old who was never the same again after that knee injury, the thirty-two year old who had returned to the very same rink he walked away from.

Otabek opens his mouth, one hand on Yuri's waist, anchoring him while the other one is on his back. Their kiss is too wet, and Yuri slits one eye open to see that the moisture is coming from Otabek's eyes, trailing down one cheek before he slowly wipes it off.

"Crying?"

Otabek closes his eyes, "If I could take back all of your pain in a heartbeat I would."

He will need to call Katya once morning breaks, but for now, he trails his hand down Otabek's arms and laces their fingers together.

"Answer this for me, answer it honestly," Otabek says, and Yuri could see their history splayed out from his head like a too-fast slideshow of memories, the good and the bad, the victories and the losses. Today was Russia and Russia for the first two podium slots and Yuri thinks back to a time where he could look in his peripheral to see the proud golden eagle on a sky blue background, "Do you want me?" 

Despite everything: "Yes."

 

He growls at the alarm on the other side of the bed as Otabek slithers out of his arms and stifles it. A few seconds later, the bathroom door quietly closes.

It takes Yuri several minutes to muster enough energy to peel open his eyes, and when he does, Otabek has shaved, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair into its usual style. He pads over to their closet, sticking his head into the rows of dress shirts and sportswear, one hand grabbing a pressed set of pants while the other pats around for cuff links.

"Stay."

Otabek raises a playful eyebrow at him, pushing inside his luggage with his most recent flight sticker still stuck to the fabric, before shutting the closet door, "And what are you doing still in bed? You usually leave first, zhanym."

The name still sends a fluttery feel down Yuri's spine, "It's Vanya's and Dasha's off day today and I'm not teaching until after lunch since you know," Yuri cackles when Otabek looks around their room and finds a neon balloon brushing the ceiling with the curled string pulled down by gravity, "You're turning fifty!"

"I'm only thirty-five, thank you very much," Otabek dryly says, shrugging on a suit jacket. "I have to go— JJ booked the studio for a limited amount of time and we need to record it today," He kisses Yuri, "Bella will come by later— she has presents for Natalya."

"Don't be late for your own dinner!"

Otabek grins and waves goodbye, a black engagement band present on his ring finger. Yuri smiles and snuggles back into where Otabek had been laying several minutes before, the bed still warm.

His phone chirps.

"Sup."

" _How was it?_   _Did the new ring fit? He didn't go to sleep for so long that I thought about force feeding him those allergy medications that makes you drowsy!_ "

Yuri laughs, "It fits, it fits! And I think he knew that you were the one who helped me."

Madina huffs at the other end of the line, rummaging around the kitchen, " _Somehow, that doesn't surprise me at all. Have you thought about dates yet?_ "

"Not really but," He yawns and pads out into the living room, where Otabek had properly bought a dining table for his birthday several months ago. A vase of forget me nots are at the center along with some cold toast and a boiled egg. "Summer sounds good right? You're not teaching and it's off season for me. Or maybe late spring."

" _Whatever you pick, I'm sure it'll be fine_ ," She says. " _We'll call you later, Zarina's flying in today and we're picking her up— Elina, young lady, take that spoon out of your mouth!— I just wanted to check if everything went smoothly._ "

"You sound busy," He laughs when Otabek's niece runs away from her mother, stomping away, "But it went well. Talk to you later."

" _Bye!_ "

He teaches the intermediate adult class with Georgi before leading an off-ice session until he takes his break and rests his feet in his office. Mila pops by with his coffee order and he reminds her about Otabek's birthday dinner before she hollers her okay and races back to her students. 

He unlocks his phone: three missed calls and two texts.

One is from a Japanese coach who wants to send their student to Yuri for his senior debut. Yuri jots whatever information is said through voicemail and writes a reminder to himself to look at the kid's skating later on youtube before deciding.

The second one is Yakov reminding him to book tickets for Euros. Right. Yuri was supposed to do that yesterday but he bailed because he needed to pick up Beka from the airport.

The third is from Otabek, and Yuri presses his phone between his ear and shoulder as he clicks through google to find the cheapest airline tickets in first class. One for Mila, one for him, one for Georgi, one for Victor, one for Ivan, one for Yegor, two for Mila's student and one for Georgi's student— altogether nine airplane tickets.

" _I picked up Sofiya from the vet. She scratched the assistant and seems very pleased with herself. I'll see you later at home. Drive safely._ "

All's well, Yuri prints the receipt and crosses the tickets off his to-do list. He takes a sip of his coffee as he peruses through Instagram, pressing on a notification. Otabek had posted a picture of their matching rings, one half-stacked on top of the other with a candle in the background. 

**♥ 4,891 likes  
** **otabek-altin** beloved by @yuri_plisetsky  
View all 971 comments  
 **phichit+chu**  !!! CONGRATULATIONS YOU TWO!  
 **Jjleroy!15**  MY BEST FRIEND IS GETTING MARRIED!!11!1! Dibs on best man!  
 **mbabicheva** ♥♥♥

Yuri taps the little heart in the corner with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading! (and commenting and kudo-ing and subscribing!)


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